


Sexy Singing

by aliciameade



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Dirty Dancing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciameade/pseuds/aliciameade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the summer of 2011 when everybody called me “Red” and it didn't occur to me to mind.</p><p>That was before The Fappening happened, before ZAYN was a thing, when I couldn't wait to join the Bellas, and I thought I'd never find a person as great as my dad.</p><p>That was the summer we went to The Lodge at Fallen Leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lodge

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as the Dirty Dancing AU that I had to write.
> 
> You can access this fic's playlist - because what's Dirty Dancing without an epic soundtrack? on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/veronicamae1/playlist/1PABN2fl2nP7u3hLhTsuk7)

It was hot in the backseat of the family RangeRover, thanks to my dad failing to get the A/C fixed before this road trip. The air pouring in from his open window served better to drive me crazy by ruffling the pages of my book than keep us cool. Most amusingly, it repeatedly messed up Stacie’s perfect hair, and she spent the better part of the trip with a mirror and comb in front of her face.

 

That was the summer of 2011 when everybody called me “Red” and it didn't occur to me to mind.

 

That was before The Fappening happened, before ZAYN was a thing, when I couldn't wait to join the Bellas, and I thought I'd never find a person as great as my dad.

 

That was the summer we went to The Lodge at Fallen Leaves.

 

The Lodge was something else - it sprawled for acres upon acres, rolling hills of greenery teeming with life, children running, couples strolling, hipsters on hoverboards which apparently weren’t illegal here like they were in the city, I realized with annoyance.

 

 _“Air hockey in the west arcade, softball in the east diamond. All you Derek Jeters, get out there! Complimentary voice lessons in the gazebo.”_ I recognized that voice over the loudspeaker - the same enthusiasm that came over the radio when we were on the highway; Benji, if I recalled.

 

It was bustling as Dad parked at the main entrance, members of the staff scurrying about, helping other guests unpack their luggage onto carts. Stacie didn’t miss the stack of Louis Vuitton suitcases coming out of the car in front of ours.

 

“Oh, my God. Look at that! Mom, I should've brought the Jimmy Choos. You said I was taking too much.”

 

“Well, Stacie, you brought ten pairs.”

 

“But the Jimmy Choos matched that dress.”

 

My sister was something else. You’d think a misplaced hair or a hangnail could ruin her life. Absolutely no concept of a world outside her pretty little head.

 

Our dad loved her, despite it. “This is not a tragedy. A tragedy is that Rebecca Black song, or Carly Rae Jepsen.”

 

“ _Avenue Q_ winning the Tony over _Wicked,_ ” was my witty addition.

 

“Butt out, Red.” Love you, too, sis.

 

“Doc!”

 

“John!”

 

Based on the man’s expensive suit and grotesquely fake smile, I assumed this John to be the owner of the Lodge. He and my father clearly knew each other well. A blonde woman with an equally fake smile appeared from seemingly nowhere a moment later.

 

“Doc, after all these years I finally got you up on my mountain. You remember my business partner, Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger.”

 

Dad shook his hand vigorously. “How are the ol’ cords, John?” He shook Gail’s hand as well, but she was distracted, whispering pointedly at the boy she’d beckoned to our spot.

 

“I want you girls to know if it were not for this man, I'd be standing here silent. Donald, get the bags,” John barked at the boy. “I kept the best cabin for you and your beautiful girls.”

 

“Right away!” The boy hopped-to, grabbing the keys from my dad to pop open the rear door with the remote and I followed him, not interested in whatever pleasantries my dad was exchanging with one of his ENT patients, and helped him unload. “Hey, thanks a lot. You want a job here?”

 

I blushed but smiled, not used to boys being nice to me - at least, not nice boys like this one seemed to be. I busied myself, but couldn’t help overhearing that blonde woman, Gail, when she started speaking - you’d think she was a professional commentator, the flair she used in her speech.

 

“There's an introductory singing class in the gazebo in the next few minutes. The greatest teacher. Was on Broadway last year, when she was just 17.”

 

“It's his first real vacation in six years, Gail. Take it easy,” my mom admonished.

 

“Marjorie, three weeks here, it'll feel like a year.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do_! Let’s go, warm up those voices - the voice is a muscle, you must treat it as though you are an athlete!”

 

I loved to sing, I truly did. But I liked to sing my way, wild and without ridiculous scales, but when the blonde halted in her pacing right in front of me, noticing I was only half-singing, she clapped right in my face until I joined in properly.

 

“That’s better! Now, I know we all know this one - and we can put that scale to good use! _Let’s start at the very beginning - a very good place to start. When you read you begin with…”_

 

She looked at me pointedly, so I finished, “ _A-B-C_.”

 

She nodded, apparently satisfied. “ _When you sing you begin with do-re-mi. Do-re-mi, do-re-mi._ _The first three notes just happen to be do-re-mi..._ ” She held up her hand as though ready to conduct.

 

I smiled; I loved _The Sound of Music_. The group, a mix ranging from the very young to the very old, repeated. _“Do-re-mi.”_

 

“Great! Everybody now - _Do, a deer, a female deer_ …”

 

We were a mess of a chorus, but it wasn’t a concert; just a bunch of vacationers having a good time, and I could tell the teacher was as amused as she was annoyed by our lack of both skill and technique. She was intimidatingly pretty, too, with her shiny golden hair and flirty summer dress that I would have chosen to wear on a date rather than to a singing lesson (if you could even call it a lesson). I looked down at my denim cutoffs and worn out black Converse and my blue button-down, feeling terribly underdressed.

 

“Now, choreography! Very simple - left, right, left.” I watched - it was easy enough. Boring, almost. Stacie seemed super focused on the teacher’s feet, trying to memorize it. “Okay ladies, when I say ‘go,’ you’re going to find the man of your dreams!”

 

Oh my gosh, we were going to have to pair up to dance?? I did not...no, I did _not_ dance with strangers. The moment the teacher yelled, “Go!” Stacie was gone like a flash, and I tried to grab my dad, nice safe Dad, but the teacher cut me off, almost pushing me out of the way! To take his hand and lead him into the easy step.

 

“May I have this dance?” I looked back from where I was glaring with disappointment, surprised by the Australian accent, and the fact that it was a blonde - a different blonde - girl, taking my hands before I even responded.

 

Must be my lucky day.

 

* * *

 

I needed to get out.

 

It wasn’t that I needed to escape my family - I didn’t, not at all. But there was _so_ much to do at the Lodge; the place was ginormous. And besides - I’d been cooped up with my family for hours, and the weather was perfect, that early summer kind of night where it was warm, but the breeze could bring on a shiver. And you know...I wasn’t opposed to making new friends! I didn’t want to look sloppy if I did, so I showered and changed into my white sundress, and remember that shiver I mentioned? I didn’t forget either. I grabbed my cardigan on the way out the door.

 

“I’m going to the main house to look around!”

 

It was nice being alone, I decided, as I strolled down the path. Alone, but not lonely. It was quiet in the twilight of the evening, families with the noisy children having retired, leaving the only folks out and about of the peaceful variety.

 

The main house was massive - truly, it was impressive. At the top of a hill, all brick and windows and with a patio that circled nearly the entire thing, offering views of the entire resort. I could see my family’s cabin, not too far, straight down the main path. Volleyball nets and horseshoe pits dotted the expanse between the the buildings, and there was a maze of pathways that extended like a spider’s web, the main house at the hub.

 

The sunset in the west was perfect, and I was fumbling for my phone in the pocket of my sweater when I overheard that colorful, overly dramatic voice again: Gail.

 

“There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are all college guys. I went to Harvard -”

 

“And I went to Yale,” the voice I recognized as John’s added.

 

“To hire you. And why did I do that? Why?”

 

I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I had to; I loved gossip and I loved to eavesdrop. I kept my stroll steady, nonchalant until I could peer through an open door. I was right, John and Gail were there, holding court in front of the wait staff, a dozen or so boys dressed in burgundy blazers and black trousers.

 

“I shouldn’t have to remind you. This is a family place. That means you keep your fingers out of the water, hair out of the soup.”

 

“And show the goddamn daughters a good time. All the daughters. Even the dogs.”

 

“Really, John?”

 

I bit my tongue. What a prick!

 

“Schlepp 'em out to the terrace, show 'em the stars,” Gail said with a flare and a flourish of her well-manicured hands. “Romance 'em any way you want.”

 

“Got that, guys?”

 

That was a new voice, a difference voice. A girl’s voice. I tracked movement in the back of the room and found its source: a girl, petite, really. Brunette. She was wearing Wayfarers despite it being indoors, and dark outside. Her brown leather jacket was slung over her shoulder and her white tank top was half-tucked into her jeans. She definitely, definitely had more than just her earlobes pierced, but it was hard to tell at a distance - there was more than one sparkle along the edge of her right ear.

 

Oh, and she was trailed by half a dozen others, none of which were dressed in the fancy getups the waiters wore.

 

“Hey, hold it!” John called, chasing until the girl stopped and turned. “Hold it. Well, if it isn't the entertainment staff.” The girl didn’t seem too pleased to see John, and she crossed her arms over her chest, not actually acknowledging him with words. “Listen, wise ass, you got your own rules. Sing and dance with the sons and daughters. Teach them how to harmonize, vibrato; anything they pay for. That's it. That’s where it ends.” Despite the sunglasses, I could tell she was rolling her eyes.

 

Gail interjected, both physically and verbally. “No funny business, no conversations, and keep your hands off!”

 

“It's the same at all these places,” a boy who inexplicably carried a unicycle said, once John and Gail turned to leave. “Some ass in the woods, but no conversation.”

 

“Watch it, Unicycle.”

 

“Can you keep that straight, Beca?” It came from a tall blonde boy with an English accent, one of the waitstaff. He looked cocky, despite his ‘important’ task of setting the table. “What you can and can't lay your hands on?”

 

I didn’t understand what that meant.

 

The girl - Beca, I assumed now - clenched her jaw, as though mulling over her response, catching herself after taking a quick step toward the table he was setting. “Just put your pickle on everybody's plate, and leave the hard stuff to me.” She flicked a just-set fork off the table and walked away, her crew following. I ducked away before anyone spotted me.

 

* * *

 

I waited at the main house until dinner - it was so late, it was already dark, and I was _starving_. But I assumed that, on a regular, full day here, we probably ate all we wanted, all day, so having a formal sit-down dinner well after sunset wouldn’t feel so odd.

 

John and Gail doted on my parents like they were Beyonce and Jay-Z, John escorting my mother to her seat, Gail holding my father’s elbow as if his presence made her a queen herself. I didn’t understand it, but it put us at a lovely table, and it earned us the ‘best cabin,’ so I guess I couldn’t complain.

 

“This is Dr. and Mrs. Beale,” John said to the waiter that followed us to our table - the same waiter who had made that rude comment to the brunette girl earlier. “Red, Stacie, this is your waiter, Luke Lancaster. Yale Medical School.” My dad was instantly impressed. Of course.

 

Gail took up John’s arm. “Luke, these people are my special guests. Get them anything they want. Enjoy.”

 

“Thanks, Gail,” my dad said, still glowing at Med Student Luke.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was amazing, to say the least. I’d never been served so many courses; despite being starving, I was certain I’d pop if I took one more bite of the creme brulee that I so very much wanted to finish.

 

“Look at all this leftover food,” my mom said, seeming sad. “Are there still starving children in Southeast Asia?”

 

“Try right here at home, Ma.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Luke, Red wants to send her leftover brulee back down to Florida, so anything you don’t finish, you wrap up.” My dad thought he was so funny. And as though my dad making a request had rung a silent bell, John and Gail descended on our table again.

 

“Gail, our Red is going to change the world!”

 

“And what are you going to do, missy?” Gail asked my sister, looking at her expectantly.

 

It was too good to pass up. “Stacie’s going to decorate it.”

 

“She already does,” Luke said, not quite under his breath, as he picked up a few dishes from our table and disappeared. Stacie was smirking.

 

John snapped his fingers and gestured, a young man appearing by his side a moment later. He was cute, kind of short. Not much taller than me, really. But cute. “Doc, I want you to meet someone. My son, Jesse. Goes to Cornell School of Hotel Management.”

 

“Red’s starting Barden University in the Fall.” Oh Dad; no one cared.

 

“Oh, great.” Awkward. Jesse was awkward.

 

* * *

 

Because the world hated me, for some reason I found myself awkwardly dancing with awkward Jesse. It felt like my dad was weirdly set on finding Stacie and me husbands this summer, and he wasn’t wasting time.

 

“Are you going to major in English?”

 

Why would he even assume that? What part of me looked like an English major? “No, music education in underprivileged communities. I’m going tour the world when I join my college a cappella group and do volunteer work.”

 

“After the final show, I'm going to Vegas with a couple of busboys. Bachelor party, only no one’s getting married.” A keeper, that one, truly. And he couldn’t dance worth a crap, so stiff, and he kept stepping on my toes. Not that I was much better, but at least I had rhythm. I worked on my skill on my own for years, honing it for when I’d need it when I auditioned for the Bellas in a few months.

 

A dancing couple bumped into me, and I glanced to apologize, noticing it was the Australian girl from the gazebo, now dancing with a sandy-haired boy, to a completely different rhythm than everyone else as they twirled and bumbled their way through the dance floor. They made me laugh.

 

The terrible foxtrot music finally ended and the dance floor fell quiet. A moment later, harmonious _ooh_ ing broke the silence. It came from the stage and I saw the girl from earlier, Beca, and the voice teacher from the gazebo, backed by another dozen girls, all dressed like flight attendants, complete with pencil skirts and dainty scarves around their necks. They were singing...a cappella! I was immediately enthused, and though Beca seemed a touch bored with their routine, she put on a good show - as good a show one could put on singing Ace of Base, anyway.

 

“Who’s that?” I asked dumbly.

 

“Oh, them. They’re the music people,” Jesse explained. “They’re here to keep the guests happy. But they shouldn’t show off so much. That’s not going to sell lessons.”

 

I was enthralled - their simple, perfect harmonies and easy choreography that fit the lyrics to the song almost too well. I wanted to be a part of that. And there was something in the way Beca held her head as she spotted for a turn that made it impossible for me to look away. It was a medley apparently, moving through “Eternal Flame” and into “Turn the Beat Around,” and they were having so much fun together.

 

Too much fun, it would seem, because I spotted Gail opposite me, also watching them, and she gave them a strong _cut it_ signal, abruptly stopping their choreography. The blonde smiled and trotted down the stairs off the stage to the dance floor and Beca kept singing solo, circling her hand in the air a couple times until music started up again, and then she was off the stage and into the crowd, pulling a man at least three times her age into a two-step as the rest of us fell back into dancing as well.

 

“Hi, kids. Having fun?” My parents had shown up next to Jesse and me, their dancing not nearly as uncomfortable as mine.

 

“Yeah.” Thanks for answering for me, Jesse. “Actually, I have to excuse myself. I’m in charge of the games tonight. Say, would you like to help me get things started?”

 

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him no. Actually, I think I did, but my dad said yes? Sometimes I hated my life. That’s not true, I never hated it. But right then, I was seriously questioning it, as I stared out sideways into the audience, crammed into a box on a platform, on a stage, with the “magician” I recognized as the activities announcer Benji, now sawing me in half.

 

“This will only hurt for a minute. You’ve got Obamacare, right?”

 

The joke landed about as flat as the act, several people groaning. I just waited for it to be over.

 

To add insult to injury, they shoved a live chicken into my arms like it’s a door prize. A live chicken! Who even has live chickens just...around? I had to get out of there. This time, I really _did_ need to get away from my family and just...all those stuffy, drab, boring people. I shoved the chicken into someone’s arms, hoping it wouldn’t be the chicken I had for dinner tomorrow, and escaped through a rear exit.

 

I made for the path back to our cabin, but something caught my eye. Namely, the giant sign that read **STAFF QUARTERS. NO GUESTS PLEASE.** I mean, who could resist that temptation? Plus, maybe like...Beca, or some of those other fun-seeming young people would be back there. And no one was around, sooooo...why not mosey on back there?

 

I could hear music, and not that boring throwback stuff I’d been subjected to all night. No, I definitely heard “Super Bass” blasting from the big house at the top of the path, top floor lit up with pulsing multi-colored strobe lights like a dance club. It drew me like a moth to a flame; I needed to see more, but I couldn’t get in trouble. I found a seat on a big rock in the shadows to think.

 

And just as I sat and thought, Donald, the boy who’d helped us move in, hustled past, arms full, somehow managing to hold three - _three_ \- watermelons. “Hey!” I called. And startled him, whoops.

 

“How’d you get here?”

 

“What, like it’s hard? There’s literally just a sign. It’s not like you need a code or something. There’s not even a chain.”

 

“Go back.”

 

“Let me help you.” I reach for the watermelon that’s about to squirt out of his grip, catching it just in time.

 

“No, I’m good.”

 

“What’s up there?” I asked, glancing at the party upstairs.

 

“No guests allowed. House rules. Why don’t you go back to the playhouse? I saw you dancing with little boss man.” He rocked his two melons side to side, humming suggestively. I nearly gagged, and shoved the watermelon back into his failing arms to walk away. “Can you keep a secret?”

 

 _That’s more like it._ I reclaimed my watermelon and nodded.

 

“Your parents would kill you. Gail would kill me.”

 

He started walking and I hurried after him, climbing the dozens of stairs up the side of the hill, the music growing louder, my excitement getting higher with every step. I could feel the bass in my chest by the time Donald stopped us in front of a set of double doors as he turned and shoved his backside into them to throw them open, nearly dropping his watermelons in the process.

 

The doors opened straight onto a dance floor, all the waitstaff and the groundskeepers and...and yeah I definitely recognized everyone who had rolled in with Beca that evening. They were all dancing, grinding, thrusting, laughing, drinking. The Nicki Minaj song had ended before we’d made it to the house, but it had mixed into into “Lady Marmalade” seamlessly. And did I mention what they were wearing? Hoooo boy...if I was caught wearing dresses as short as those girls, I’d be grounded for at _least_ two weeks. I didn't see Beca anywhere through.

 

And...and wow, okay, there were definitely two girls dancing _very_ intimately, without a care in the world. I was so...out of my element. I _loved_ it. Then I heard the scratch of vinyl and immediate silence, followed by a whistle, and a stomp. And another stomp. Until the entire room was stomping, and the girl who’d been dancing _very_ close to the other girl tossed her hands up and sang, “ _Who run the world!_ ” and the room answered, “ _Squirrels_!”

 

“Where’d they learn to do that?” I asked, dumbfounded. They were better than any a cappella group I’d ever seen on YouTube.

 

“Where? I don’t know. It’s all the rage back home. Something to do with that ‘Glee’ show I guess.” Donald wiggled his watermelons again. “Wanna try it?”

 

I didn’t answer, overwhelmed, excited, terrified. It must have read on my face, because he laughed.

 

“Come on, Red.”

 

I followed him through the party, through the dozens of people singing and dancing, every one of them in perfect unison. My eyes scanned the room as we walked; I really wanted to see that one person, that one girl. She had to be here, right? I twisted to get past that girl-girl dancer/first singer, and she grinned at me, flicking the brim of her fedora up at me in greeting. We made it to the back, finally, and I was happy to get rid of the watermelon. It was seriously heavy.

 

“Can you imagine performing like this on the main floor?” Donald asked, shouting to be heard. “Home of the family foxtrot and 90s covers? John and Gail would close the place down first.”

 

A commotion by the front door caught my attention, some of the people breaking out of their singing and choreography to whistle and greet the newcomers.

 

And there she was, Beca, running in, the gray blazer she’d worn earlier gone, her white blouse unbuttoned to the middle of her chest, the french twist out of her hair to let it flow down her shoulders freely. Her blonde partner followed hand-in-hand, stripping from her uniform similarly, shaking her curls down. I couldn’t take my eyes off Beca, the way she walked in and owned the room, the way she walked up to the boy by the door and literally took the beer out of his mouth and chugged it, shaking her head and whooping before pushing her way through the dance floor.

 

The routine officially fell apart, everyone seeming to opt to freestyle instead, and the music picked back up - a remix of Rihanna’s “Cheers” - just in time for Beca to grab the blonde’s hand and spin her out and back in, immediately dancing up on her, both of them wearing wide smiles. They definitely weren’t the same prim and proper entertainers from the post dinner entertainment. And the way they moved...the way _Beca_ moved...and the way her hands were just...everywhere…

 

“ _Cheers to the freakin’ weekend!”_ the floor sang in unison.

 

“That’s my cousin, Beca Mitchell,” Donald shouted in my ear. I blushed hard, caught staring. “She got me the job here.”

 

I watched Beca spin her partner again, this time catching her to dance against her from behind, grinding. “They look great together.”

 

“Yeah. You’d think they were a couple, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Well...aren’t they?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound too hopeful, but I’m pretty sure it did.

 

“Nah, not since we were kids.”

 

They really could have fooled me, the way the blonde turned back to Beca and wrapped her arms around her neck, smiling down at her as their hips worked in tandem. I felt my own hips trying to move. I loved this song, too. I wanted to dance but not...I didn’t dance like _that_.

 

But the song ended, so I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Everyone cheered, and I watched Beca celebrate, high fiving the girls around her, and then some dance mix of Jessie J’s “Price Tag” spun up, and she was right back in the blonde’s arms, grinding again. And I was entranced again.

 

And then for some reason, Beca dropped her dance partner and started working her way...towards me? Surely not towards me. Towards the food, which is where I happened to be. But then she...stopped dancing and kind of looked at me, and then at Donald, who wasn’t paying attention when she jumped up and shoulder checked him.

 

“Yo, cuz. What’s she doing here?” She nodded at me, sending my eyes to the ground.

 

“She came with me,” Donald tried. “She’s with me.” Yeah, I wasn't with you buddy.

 

“I carried a watermelon.” Facepalm. So much facepalm.

 

Beca seemed unimpressed, giving Donald a death glare before turning back to the dance floor.

 

“I carried a watermelon??”

 

Beca was back a minute later, the blonde on her arm, laughing as they danced, but Beca was looking...at me? Yes, she was actually looking at _me_ this time. And walking up to me. Kind of smiling at me, oh God. She crooked her index finger at me, beckoning me to her with a smile. All I could do was...take her hand and let her pull me onto the dance floor.

 

She put her hand up, rotating it in a circle like I saw her do after dinner, and the music cut again. “Price Tag, our way,” she called out, and the room erupted and then fell silent. She snapped four times quietly, and a chorus of _oohs_ rang out, and her blonde partner led the verse, but her eyes were on mine and mine on hers, having no idea what was supposed to be happening. I could do dancing, mostly. But this was just...staring. After a quiet verse, it grew silent like the bass was going to drop - not that there was bass _to_ drop, and then a girl sprang into the air from a crouch to start beatboxing, the rest of the room falling right into the next verse, now faster and rhythmic.

 

“Like this,” Beca said, pointing at her own mouth as she beatboxed a simple rhythm that matched the song. Then her hands were on my hips, nodding at me to try it. And I tried it, and was terrible at it, surely spitting on her every time, but if she noticed, she didn’t react to it. “Good.”

 

Instead she kept her own beatbox going and started swaying her hips a little, stepping closer to me until we were flush and I forgot I was, I guess, supposed to be beatboxing or whatever, because instead I was all about the fact that her hips were against mine and her arms were around my waist as she pulled me to move with her to the beat of the song created by nothing more than the dozens of people surrounding us. “That’s better,” she said, lifting my arms to wrap around her neck.

 

It was magic. It was heaven. It was an a cappella dreamland I never knew could exist, plus that amazing, attractive, _hot_ girl who wiggled her hips against mine and then spun me and disappeared, leaving me clapping like an idiot seal alone on the dance floor.


	2. Heat

_“Ladies, join our hair-raising wig show. Try your Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, or Dolly Parton-9-to-5 wig!”_

 

The theatre nerd in me loved the wigs. They weren’t the best quality, and I didn’t really understand why trying on wigs next to the lake was really even a thing someone would organize, but I was all about the blue bob wig I was wrangling my red curls up under. Stacie was working with what was labeled Madonna - a 1990 Madonna, by my estimate.

 

Apparently entertainment staff weren’t exempt from working ridiculous things like this. Beca’s blonde dance partner was wrestling a jet black Cher wig onto my Australian friend next to me before making her way down the line, picking up discarded wigs from the ground.

 

“You are a material girl living in a material world and I am a material...waiter.” Ugh, my gosh. What a terrible attempt at being smooth. Luke’s lucky that accent made him charming; Stacie would have laughed him off the planet any other time. He crouched beside her to bring himself level, and she seemed absolutely giddy by his arrival. “If tips keep up, I'll have enough for my Porsche Boxter.”

 

“That’s my favorite car,” Stacie cooed, stroking his chin. _Gag me._

 

“Ladies, you look very lovely.”

 

I knew that voice. I looked up to see Beca standing with her partner, smiling at us all. Her Wayfarers were back, her hair pulled into a ponytail to fight the mid-day heat, no doubt. And me, in that stupid blue wig! I whipped it off my head as fast as I could.

 

“Red, would you cover for me tonight?” Stacie asked, still futzing with her Madonna wig. “Tell Mommy and Daddy I went to lie down?”

 

“Um, where you going?” I was half-listening, trying hard to make myself presentable before Beca looked my way again.

 

“To the golf course. There’s a pretty view from the first tee.”

 

I wasn’t listening. I was looking - no, gazing - at Beca as she spoke to her partner about something, then kissed her cheek and took off. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I had to talk to this woman that Beca was so enamored by.

 

“So, you were really on Broadway?” I asked. “I think you’re a wonderful singer.”

 

“Yeah? Well my father kicked me out when I was 15 after failing to book my first callback.” She didn’t seem to really pay attention to me, shoving wigs into a case. “Been singing ever since. It’s the only thing I ever wanted to do anyway.”

 

“I envy you.”

 

She slammed the case closed, turned, and left. _Awkward._ And kind of a bitch.

 

* * *

 

It was another beautiful night. Truly, the summer nights in the mountains were magical. I was back in the gazebo. Which could have been nice, but it was for more dancing - more _foxtrot_. Honestly, what decade were we in? I covered for Stacie like she asked, so lucky me was the third wheel to my parents’ romantic evening. However, I didn’t mind the pattern that at these post-dinner social hours, the entertainment staff tended to take center stage. Or, more specifically, Beca Mitchell.

 

“Doc, why aren’t you dancing?” Gail asked my father, swooping in from seemingly nowhere the moment we stepped into the gazebo.

 

“We’re waiting for a waltz.”

 

Again, what decade, Mom? I guess what else would old people dance to?

 

I spotted Beca then, on the dance floor with a handsome but way-too-old-to-be-dancing-with-her gentleman. He was wearing an expensive suit, Burberry I recognized. But Beca...Beca was breathtaking in a navy blue strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline and a hem that fell to her ankles and a diamond choker necklace, her hair loose save for where one side of it was clipped up and away from her face with a matching diamond clip.

 

“Hi, Gail,” the man said when he overheard her. _Hard not to._ “Aren't my dance lessons starting to pay off?”

 

“You look great, Victor! Terrific!”

 

Beca glanced at me for a moment, and I wished I wasn’t surrounded by my parents and her boss. And then she was back smiling at her dance partner.

 

“Victor Goldberg, one of the bungalow gigolos; that’s what we call the men who stay here all week,” John explained to my father. _When had John arrived?_ “The wives, or sometimes husbands, only come up on weekends. Jackie Goldberg’s a big card player. She’ll join our game.” I didn’t like how handsy Victor was with Beca, and that Beca wasn’t really doing anything to stop it. “Jackie coming up on Friday?” John called.

 

“Friday,” Victor answered, twirling Beca.

 

“She’s away a lot,” Gail said, voice full of sadness. “I know. It’s a hardship.”

 

Victor didn’t seem to be suffering…at least, not until Jesse showed up, pulling Beca aside.

 

“Where’s Aubrey? Everybody’s been asking for her.”

 

Beca looked mad. “What do you mean, where’s Aubrey? She’s taking a break - she needs a break.” I couldn’t help but notice Victor’s hands were still on her, holding her waist from behind.

 

“As long as it’s not an all-night break,” Jesse said, trying to sound threatening. And then, oh no, he was coming right for me. “Come on, doll. Let’s take a walk.” Ew, and he put his arm around my shoulders. Anything to get away from having to watch Beca with Victor I guess.

 

* * *

 

We ended up on the dock by the lake, and he was uncomfortably close. I would have enjoyed the moment with anyone else, or even him if he wasn’t all up on me all creepy-style.

 

“I love to watch your hair blowing in the breeze.”

 

Honestly, who says things like that? He thought he was really smooth, based on the fact that he started to lean in to try to kiss me.

 

“Maybe my parents are looking for me.”

 

“Red, don’t worry. If they think you’re with me, they’ll be the happiest parents at the Lodge.” He paused, and seemed to puff out his chest. “I have to say it: I’m known as the catch of the county.”

 

 _What county - the county of population one: you?_ “I’m sure you are.”

 

“Last week I took a girl away from George, the lifeguard. And he said to her, ‘What does he have that I don't have?’ And she said, ‘Two hotels.’”

 

I hated myself for laughing at his stupid, stupid joke. If I was her, I would have answered, “A life.”

 

“Luke?” That sounded like Stacie. “I don’t hear an apology.” Definitely Stacie. I spotted her, fixing her dress as she stalked out of the woods ahead of Luke.

 

“Go back to Mommy and Daddy and listen. Maybe you'll hear one in your dreams.”

 

_What a dick!!_

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Red. Sometimes in this world...you see things you don't wanna see.” _What was this guy on?_ Seriously. Was Stacie okay? I knew she could take care of herself, but she seemed pretty upset. She was still walking with the guy, though. “You hungry?” _Well, I haven’t eaten in at least twenty minutes._ “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

That guy - what a try-hard. Parading me through the resort’s kitchen like he owned the place, past the massive stainless steel Viking ranges, and the knives mounted on the wall and the gleaming counters until we got to a wall of refrigerators, whereupon he opened one.

 

“So, Red, what do you want? You can have anything you want. Brownie, some milk…”

 

Something caught my eye.

 

“Leftover rice pudding, beets, cabbage roll…”

 

It was Aubrey, curled up against the wall between a cabinet and a counter in the shadows. Crying. Not just crying. She looked absolutely petrified, hands clutching her throat.

 

“Fruit salad, sweet gherkins?”

 

“Jesse, look, I'm sorry.” I put my arm around his shoulders so he wouldn’t turn around and see her. “I better go check on Stacie.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Thankfully, he didn’t fight me when I led him out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

As soon as I was free from Jesse I ran as fast as I could back to the gazebo to find someone, anyone, from the entertainment staff. I spotted Donald first and I rushed to him, telling him what I saw. He looked nervous and moved fast, trying as delicately as possible to interrupt Beca’s waltz with a man who was not Victor, but fit the same category, to whisper in her ear before they both took off running. I followed, not sure if I should or not, but I was involved now. And I was worried about Aubrey.

 

“Why’s she here?” Beca asked as we walked up the path to the main house.

 

“I brought her in case Jesse comes back.”

 

“Aubrey just doesn’t think.” Beca sounded angry.

 

“She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she?” Donald asked as we cut a shorter path across the lawn.

 

“So, what’s wrong?” I had to know what the big deal was. Why Aubrey was so scared. Why Beca was so mad. Why Donald was so worried. “What’s the matter with her?”

 

“She has nodes, Red.”

 

“Donald!”

 

“What’s she going to do about it?” I asked.

 

We all stopped walking; Beca was _pissed_ at him for telling me. Or maybe at me for asking. I knew what nodes were. My father was an ENT. I was a hopeful singer. Nodes could be a death sentence. Or whatever.

 

“‘What’s she going to do about it?’ It’s my fault, right?” Beca said, rounding on me. “Right away, you think it’s mine.”

 

“But I meant...” I couldn’t finish my thought. Beca looked at me with such disgust, I forgot what I had wanted to say.

 

And for some inexplicable reason, I followed her anyway, back into the main house, into the kitchen where Aubrey was curled up on the floor crying.

 

Beca rushed to her, kneeling down to lift her up. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

 

Aubrey curled into her immediately, silent tears wracking her body.

 

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you. We gotta go, okay?” I watched Beca half-lift Aubrey up until they were both back on their feet. She kept a firm grip on Aubrey’s hand as they walked out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

I had no idea why I was still with them, but I guess it was because Donald kept asking me to help carry things, this time, an extra quilt, back to the house that held the party I snuck into my first night.

 

“What do you think you're doing? You're in trouble, you talk to me,” Beca was saying, handing Aubrey a cup of tea. “I'll take care of it. You should've come to me in the first place.”

 

“Forget it, Beca. I'm not taking what's left of your salary.”

 

“Aubrey, that’s up to me.”

 

“Besides, it wouldn't be enough.” She tried to sip her tea but started breaking down again. And I felt sooooo out of place. I tried to push myself into the wall. “Oh, God, it's hopeless.”

 

“Don't say that.” _She’s going to hate you and your constant need to be sympathetic._ “There's gotta be a way to work it out.”

 

Aubrey looked up at me from her seat on the couch, face red and eyes bleary. She stopped crying immediately. “Red? Is that your name?” I nodded. “Well you know what, Red? You don't know shit about my problems.”

 

“I told her,” Donald said. It was kind of cute, how he was always coming to my defense.

 

“Jesus, Donald!” Aubrey said, apparently forgetting about her tears altogether. “Now she's gonna tell her little management boyfriend and then we'll all get fired! Why not skywrite it? ‘Aubrey has nodes thanks to Luke the Lancelot.”

 

“Luke?” How would Luke give her nodes? Unless... _ew._

 

“One of the counselors knows a doctor,” Donald said, as if it would assuage my alarm. “A real M.D., traveling through town one day next week. We can get an appointment, but it costs twenty-five hundred dollars.”

 

“But if it’s Luke’s fault, there’s no problem. I know he has the money.” _Good job, self. Problem solver!_ “I’m sure if you tell him…”

 

“He knows,” Aubrey said, sounding like she’s heard it all before. She laughed sardonically. “Go back to your playpen.”

 

So I left.

 

* * *

 

Why I kept finding myself in positions of helping the resort staff, I never figured it out. But there I was, filling water glasses in the dining room with Luke. Well, in this case, it was so I could confront him about Aubrey.

 

“Just where do you get off telling me what’s right?” he asked, placing dinner rolls on bread plates.

 

“You can’t just ignore her, I mean -”

 

“I didn’t blow a summer spinning oldies in a dusty radio station just to bail out some chick who probably banged every guy here. I mean, I’m flattered she thinks her vocal damage is somehow my fault, but I know we didn’t do it _that_ much. A little precision, please, Red,” he said, noticing my pitcher had dribbled across the table. “Some people count. And some people don’t.” He pulled a book out of back pocket, a copy of _How to Win Friends and Influence People_ that was beyond beat up. Who even carried books around with them? Let alone _that_ book? In their pocket? At work? “Read it. I think it’s a book you’ll enjoy. But make sure you return it; I have notes in the margins.”

 

God, what a fucking douche. I stepped right up next to him. “You make me sick. Stay away from me. Stay away from my sister. Or I’ll have you fired.” I smiled sweetly and poured the rest of my pitcher of water down the front of his pants before storming away.

 

* * *

 

I knew I had to do something. Aubrey needed help. I found my dad on the putting green.

 

“Daddy, someone’s in trouble.”

 

“Besides your mother?” he cracked - apparently she wasn’t doing too well with her golf game.

 

“And you always told me if someone was in trouble, I should try to help. Could you lend me twenty-five hundred dollars?”

 

My dad sobered quickly. “Are you alright, Red?” The alarms in his head started going off. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

 

“No, no, it’s not me. Could you lend it to me?”

 

“That’s a lot of money, Red. What’s it for?”

 

“I can’t tell you. And it’s hard for me to say that to you. But I can’t.”

 

“You always said you could tell me anything.” _Ugh, Dad - I love you, please don’t pull my heartstrings._

 

“I can’t tell you this.”

 

He paused. “It’s not illegal, is it?”

 

“...no Daddy,” I said, hoping to be convincing. It surely wasn’t illegal. Safe, on the other hand?

 

“That was a stupid thing to ask,” he said with a smile. “Forgive me.” He pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my head. “I’ll have it for you before dinner.”

 

“Is everything alright?” my mom asked, apparently curious as to our conversation.

 

“Fine, dear.”

 

“Thanks, Daddy,” I said, and left before Mom could question me.

 

* * *

 

I went up to the staff house after dinner and the evening entertainment. It was quieter than it had been my first visit, everyone slow dancing to Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now.” I weaved my way through the dance floor, the couples dancing so close that, if they were naked, they’d surely be having sex right there. I felt kind of like a pinball, trying to pick my way through everyone, looking for Beca and Aubrey.

 

I finally found them near the back, dancing with each other, oblivious to the world. I hovered, hoping to be noticed, but when I wasn’t, I forced myself to reach out and tap Aubrey’s shoulder, startling them apart.

 

“Hi,” I said, hoping to not be awkward. I pulled the envelope out of my back pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s the money.”

 

Aubrey looked at the envelope in her hand and started to smile. “You mean, Luke?”

 

“No, you were right about him,” I said, frowning.

 

“Then where’d you get it?”

 

“You said you needed it.”

 

Beca seemed to be painfully and forcefully ignoring the situation, staring at the wall as she drank her beer.

 

“Is this kid for real?” Aubrey asked her.

 

Beca finally looked at me. “Yeah, it takes a real saint to ask Daddy.” _Wow, okay._

 

Aubrey hesitated, and then handed the envelope back to me. “Thanks, Red, but I can’t use it.” She pulled Beca back into their dance.

 

“What’s the matter with you? You should take the money,” Beca said to her. _Like, first you bitch at me about how I got it, and then when she refuses it, you tell her to take it? Okay._

 

“I could only get her an appointment for Thursday,” Donald said, startling me as if he came out of nowhere. “They do their act at the auto show on Thursday night. If they cancel, they lose this season’s salary and next year’s gig.”

 

 _No pressure._ “What auto show?”

 

“For Volkswagen, they’re one of the Lodge’s sponsors. Where they do their little flight attendant act.”

 

“Can’t someone else fill in?”

 

Beca’s head whips to me. “No, Miss Fix-It, somebody else can’t fill in. Emily has to work all day; she can’t learn the routines. And Ashley has to fill in for Aubrey. Everybody works here.” Her snark turned snide. “What, do you wanna do it? You wanna take time out from improv class?”

 

I looked at the ground.

 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Donald said, almost convincingly.

 

Beca laughed. “It was a joke, Donald.”

 

He shrugged. “She _can_ move.”

 

“No, it’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard of.”

 

 _No. No no no._ “I can’t even beatbox.”

 

“See?”

 

“Beca, you’re a strong leader,” Aubrey said, holding the brunette’s shoulder. “You can teach anybody.”

 

Beca looked flabbergasted. She pointed her beer bottle at me. “But you heard her! She can’t even beatbox! She can’t do it. She cannot do it.”

 

_Wow, well now it was just insulting. I can fucking do it._

 

* * *

 

“Ow!”

 

“Sorry!” I stepped on the one, and right onto Beca’s foot.

 

“Don’t step on the one. You have to start on the two. It’s staggered, and I start on the one. Find the two. Understand?” She clicked a button on the remote she kept in her pocket and paused the track. She was more concerned about my dancing than singing, apparently, and chose to start with that.

 

“I told you I’ve never done real choreography before.”

 

“It’s one, two, three four, one, two, three, four. When we start singing, you don’t dance until the two. Got it?” She grabbed my hands and shook them out. “Relax.” And then stood behind me, framing her arms with mine, hands around my wrists. Her left hand disappeared for a second and the track restarted. “Wait,” she said, hand grasping my hip when I tried to step. Another four-count passed and I stepped on the two. “Good,” she said, guiding me through the same steps I’d seen her do with Aubrey the first night I saw her perform.

 

It was actually kind of fun.

 

Beca _was_ a good teacher.

 

“Two, three, four,” she repeated, touching my back when my posture loosened. “Don’t lean back. Chin held high. Shoulders down. Two, three, four.” She had her hands framing my abdomen, and despite my focus, it was highly distracting and I faked messing up so she’d back off for a second. Plus, I just wanted a second to look at her in her white cotton skirt and orange v-neck and bare feet, her hair tied up in a bun to get it off of her neck. It was fucking hot - the temperature, I mean, and our secret practice space of a garage wasn’t air conditioned.

 

“Again. Concentrate.”

 

I practiced. I practiced whenever I could whether or not I was with Beca. If I was alone, I was practicing, up and down the pathways of the staff area was safest, away from the prying eyes of parents and bored househusbands. It made me feel alive. Grown-up. Sexy. I might have stolen one of Stacie’s lipsticks to start wearing to rehearsal.

 

“Don’t lose your point,” Beca said, watching me step out. “Don’t lose your point!”

 

“I didn’t!”

 

“Keep it pointed, always pointed. Just listen to me.” She took me by the waist and pulled me close. “The steps aren’t enough. Feel the music we’re making.”

 

“We haven’t…” I had to swallow, because her blue eyes and face flushed from the heat were really too much for me. “We haven’t made any music yet.”

 

“We will,” she said with a smile. “Don’t lose your point.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not on the one. It’s not like karaoke. It’s a rhythm, a feeling. A heartbeat.” Beca placed her hand over her heart and tapped her chest. “Ba-dum,” she said, in time with her tapping. “Ba-dum.”

 

I lifted my hand to mimic her on my own chest. _Tap tap._ _Tap tap._

 

“Ba-dum,” she said, slower. “Don’t try so hard.” She pulled my hand from my chest and placed it on hers, covering it with her hands. “Ba-dum. Ba-dum,” she repeated, tapping the back of my hand. I stared at it, transfixed. “Close your eyes.”

 

Her voice disappeared, but I could feel her heartbeat, tapped by her fingers and beating beneath mine. And then she was singing.

 

_“Close your eyes. Lend me your hand, darling.”_

 

And I joined her. _“Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand?”_ I could feel her heart beating, the rhythm to our song, and with a breath that I felt under my hand she had us moving through the choreography.

 

I finally opened my eyes and looked at her as we sang. She was smiling. So was I.

 

* * *

 

I rushed to the dance studio the next day. I was more excited to see Beca than I was to work on our routine, but that was okay, too.

 

I kind of wondered if she noticed that every time we practiced, my chosen outfit was getting, well...it was diminishing. Today I showed up in a purple sports bra and cut-offs, but if she noticed, she ignored it.

 

“Eyes open.” I had a bad habit of closing my eyes when I sang.

 

“Land those planes, Red.” She was right in front of me, mirroring me. “Your arms - spaghetti arms! You try to land a plane like that, it’ll be a bloodbath. Look, this is my air space,” she motioned at herself. “This is your air space. Remember that. Now, from the top of ‘Titanium.’”

 

Maybe she ignored my outfit because Aubrey was there, supervising and being in charge of the music so Beca could focus.

 

She stepped out to join us the next run-through, shadowing me from behind as I danced next to Beca. It felt odd - sexual, almost? - to have this woman’s hands on me, ensuring I maintained my form and posture. But what was funny was that I didn’t really mind it; I minded it even less when it had been Beca’s hands doing the guiding.

 

 _“You shout it out, but I can't hear a word you say,”_ Beca sang. It gave me goosebumps every time, too. _“I'm talking loud not saying much. I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet. You shoot me down, but I get up.”_

 

We practiced on the stage in the main hall, trying to get me used to being above the non-existent crowd. We could only do it after-hours, of course, Beca sneaking us in once the only people remaining were her fellow staff members cleaning up the evening’s festivities.

 

 _“I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away.”_ She spun me out and back into her, and I crashed, missing the hand I was supposed to catch, nearly knocking her teeth out with my chin.

 

I tried again. _“Ricochet, you take your aim.”_ She spun me out and back in, and I caught her hand but didn’t lock my elbow.

 

She tsked and bumped it with her other hand to remind me. “Spaghetti arms.”

 

 _“Fire away, fire away.”_ Again. Nailed it. I could get used to it, the look of quiet approval on her face with the touch of surprise when I nailed it again after she made me put on the heels I would have to perform in.

 

_“You shoot me down but I won't fall.”_

 

She spun us both and stepped back, dragging her fingertips down the inside of my arm to my wrist, and I couldn’t help it. I was ticklish, and I burst out laughing.

 

“Red, be serious.”

 

“Sorry,” I offered, trying to wipe the grin off my face.

 

_“You shoot me down but I won't fall.”_

 

Spin. Fingers. Laughter. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

 

_“You shoot me down but I won't fall.”_

 

Spin. Fingers. Smirk. A smirk in return. It felt nice, the way her fingers trailed down my arm to lock into my own. Really nice.

 

_“You shoot me down but I won't fall.”_

 

Spin. Fingers. Eye contact. No smirk. Heat.

 

_“I am titanium.”_

 

* * *

 

“Turn. Turn. Point. Snare box, you’ll learn that later. Twist and...bow!”

 

I was hot and exhausted and sloppy and our synchronized bow almost sent Beca face-first into the floor. She caught herself on her hands just in time.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Are you trying to kill me?? You have to concentrate! Is that your idea of fun?”

 

 _This bitch. Is she serious right now? We’re both drenched in sweat, I’m busting my ass…_ “As a matter of fact, it is. We’re supposed to do the show in two days, you won't show me the snare, I have no idea where the other girls are going to be in relation to us. I'm doing all this to save your _ass_ , but what I really want to do is drop you on it!”

 

Beca seemed shocked by the words that came out of my mouth. And then, almost...impressed? She straightened. “Well, then let’s get out of here!”

 

* * *

 

It was pouring rain. 80º and pouring rain. I changed out of my skirt and back into my khakis and grabbed my raincoat, following Beca out the door of the garage. She didn’t apparently care that it was raining, though she did shrug her brown leather jacket on. Her hair was drenched before we even got to her black Dodge Challenger.

 

We stopped next to the car, her hands busy in her pockets, and I could see fear in her features. “Shit,” she said, reaching for the door handle to pull it, but it didn’t budge. She slapped her hand against the roof of the car and peered through the window. “Fuck! I locked my keys in the car.”

 

“I didn’t even know you could still do that with the key fob things.”

 

“Well, I guess I’m just special,” she barked, staring at her car, face determined. She took two long strides to the edge of the road and kicked at one of the pathway marker posts, batting it back and forth until she loosened it enough to pull it out of the rain-soaked ground.

 

I couldn’t believe she was actually going to do it! She smashed the post right through the small rear window of her car and tossed the post aside before reaching in to manually unlock the passenger door. Which she then opened and gestured chivalrously for me to enter. “You’re getting wet, right?”

 

I bit my lip at the unintended innuendo and slid into the car and reached over to unlock her door as she ran around to her side.

 

I had no idea where she was taking us, but it was exciting to escape, to get away from the thought that parents or owners were hovering, waiting to pounce on anything and everything.

 

“You’re wild!” I said, laughing when she blew through a stop sign along the mountain road.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re wild!” I repeated, and she started laughing, too, shaking her head at me.

 

We drove until the rain quit and she turned onto a path that was not much more than flattened grass, barely a road, and parked in an open meadow.

 

“Come on,” she said, hopping out of the car. She left her jacket behind, and I decided to do the same. I followed her through the meadow and down a shallow ravine where a felled tree lay across it. She stopped and pulled off her shoes and socks and gestured for me to do the same. “Go around to the other side.”

 

I climbed down and up the small ditch and removed my footwear. By the time I looked up, Beca was standing on the log, arms out, watching me. I stepped out a few steps, shaky, but we were barely three feet off the ground.

 

“Now, the most important thing to remember in any routine, whether dancing or singing, is balance.” She jumped, pushing her feet hard into the log to send it vibrating.

 

“Whoa!” I shrieked, immediately crouching as it lurched beneath me.

 

She whistled as she made herself teeter, taking a few quick steps to catch herself. “I got it now! And I don’t just mean this in the literal balance way. Performances need to be balanced - too much of anything is not good.”

 

I stayed crouched on the log, watching her play around a little, a few steps forward, a few steps back. “Where’d you learn to do a cappella?”

 

“Well, this woman came into the Starbucks one day where I worked. But it was like 7pm so it was totally dead, and me and a few of the girls were just standing around doing nothing,” Beca lowered herself to straddle the tree and sit, “singing along to the radio, and we were bored and had been putting together a dumb little routine for the past couple nights. Anyway, she said that Gail Abernathy was giving a test for a cappella coaches.” She popped back up onto her feet. “So, if you passed they teach you different vocal techniques and dance steps, show you how to break them down, how to teach them.” She took a long step forward and kept her front knee bent in a lunge and pointed at me and waggled her eyebrows.

 

“What?”

 

She beckoned me with her finger, just like she’d done the first night she pulled me onto the dance floor in the staff house and pointed at the log in front of her, at the wobbliest point of the tree, right in the middle.

 

“No.”

 

She smiled and walked toward me, bending down take my hands and pull me to my feet. “Good,” she said, eyes on my feet as I balanced, our hands clasped high. “No no, don’t look down,” she said, dropping my hand to lift my chin with her finger. “Look right here,” she added, pointing at her face.

 

That was easy enough to do. I could look at her for hours.

 

She kept her left hand in mine and placed her right hand just below my shoulder and started stepping backwards, bringing me with her step by step.

 

“To do the snare,” she said, keeping her eyes on mine, “you just click, like you’re riding a horse.” I giggled at the explanation, but I knew what she meant as soon as she said it. “And then, you just add the _chh_ sound,” she continued, still walking us along the log until I felt it sag a little under our weight, and I knew we were in the wobbly middle. “But you want to do it seamlessly. _Clickchh. Clickchh._ ”

 

 _“Click…...chh,”_ I tried, not nearly as seamless as hers, and I lost my balance because I lost my focus, grabbing onto her arms to catch myself as she laughed.

 

“Good, now faster,” she said, walking herself further backward, eyes on me.

 

_“Click...chh.”_

 

“Uh huh,” she smiled, reversing the pressure against me to get me walking backwards. My heart was racing, but I wasn’t sure if it was out of fear of falling off the log or because of the way she was smiling at me. “Again, you got it.”

 

 _“Clickchh._ Hey!”

 

“There ya go!” she said, grinning as she pulled me forward again and dropped her hold on me. I was steady though, confident in my balance, and she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and a few seconds later, Young Money’s “BedRock” poured from it, making me laugh, but she made me laugh more as she turned at _“I hate to watch her go, but I love to watch her leave,”_ and dropped it low, bouncing easily on the log before popping back up to face me again, stepping backwards, away from me, making me follow.

 

 _“I like the way you’re walking if you’re walking my way,”_ she rapped along. _“I’m that Red Bull. Let’s fly away.”_

 

I laughed and caught up with her, doing my best to dance up on her with our narrow and unsteady dance floor.

 

_“Oh, baby, I be stuck to you like glue, baby. I wanna spend it all on you, baby. My room is the G-spot, call me Mr. Flintstone, I can make your bedrock.”_

 

I laughed, the song was absolutely ridiculous and I _loved_ it, only having heard it in passing but enough to remember it. _“I can make your bedrock, girl,”_ I sang in return, letting her push me backwards along the tree until we were back in the middle, where she put her arm around my waist and pulled me close, working her hips against mine like she had that first night, but I didn’t have to think about how to do it now. Now I knew - I knew how it felt to have her against me, to move with her, to follow her lead and predict her moves. I let my arm drape over her shoulder and kept the other free for balance, eyes on hers as we danced, and a crazy part of me wanted to lean forward and kiss her. A crazier part of me thought she might want me to do it.

 

“Come on, this tree is going to rip up our feet,” she said when the song ended, slipping out of our intimate embrace.

 

I crossed the log back to my side and wiggled my socks and shoes back onto my feet to follow her through the woods to a grassy clearing. It was quiet, after the rain.

 

“Okay, it’s wide open here, so you won’t get any echo with your snare,” she said, turning to face me. “Let’s run through the routine. I’ll sing it, but I just want you to keep the beat with your snare. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” I said, and stepped into place next with her to wait for her to count it off.

 

We ran through it twice and I was sure my mouth was numb by the end of it, so much _clickchh-_ ing that it almost hurt.

 

“You know, the best place to practice this is the water.”

 

“What?” I asked, laughing a little breathlessly as I recovered from Round 2. “Why? We can’t dance in the water.”

 

“Because it’s humid as fuck out here and I’m hot,” Beca answered with a shrug, taking off again like she owned the woods.

 

She led me a few hundred yards through another patch of trees until we were at the edge of the lake - the same lake, I realized, that bordered the Lodge. I could see it on the far side, tall and proud, surrounded by its manicured hedges and golf course.

 

“Come on,” Beca said, stopped at the water’s edge where she pulled off her shoes and started to wiggle out of her black jeans.

 

I tried not to look. She obviously didn’t care, and we were both girls after all, so what did it really matter? But the way my heart raced catching sight of the red string bikini briefs she wore before she was waist-deep in the water, turning to look for me, told me maybe it mattered a little.

 

“I’m waiting! I don’t like to wait!”

 

“Sorry!” I called back, hurrying out of my shoes and jeans, trying to not be modest about my own underwear which were, well, decidedly modest; I’d dressed for comfort. I left my shirt on as Beca had and waded into the water to join her. She was right - it was humid, and hot, and the water was cool. “This is nice.”

 

“Told you,” she grinned, backing up to where it was deeper. When I didn’t follow, she gestured at me. “What, are you chicken or something? Get out here.”

 

It wasn’t that I was _chicken_. I just had a lot of... _feelings_ hitting me all at once that I struggled to make heads or tails of. “I’m not chicken!” I countered, proving it by swimming out to join her, swallowing the butterflies. “We’re seriously going to practice out here?”

 

Beca laughed, a beautiful, real laugh. “No. I just wanted to go swimming.” She was quiet a moment, and then shoved her hand through the water, launching a wave right into my face.

 

“Beca!” I squealed, hopping backwards in slow motion to try to avoid it in vain. I let her have her moment, laughing at me as I sputtered and wiped water off my face and pushed my drenched hair behind my shoulders. And then I launched myself at her, easily knocking her small frame off balance to drag her down under the surface with me.


	3. How Does It Feel

“I can’t believe it’s tonight,” I said to Aubrey as we walked together to the dance studio.

 

“The convention center is twenty minutes away. You’ll change in the car,” Aubrey explained.

 

I was about to respond when I saw the Australian girl, Amy I’d since come to learn, exiting the building next door to the dance studio, leaving a poker tournament based on the sign, only to get her purse caught on the door handle and dump its contents onto the patio.

 

“Amy! Hey, Amy, we’ll help you,” I said, rushing, Aubrey following.

 

Amy was quick to move, but I couldn’t help but notice two of the items I picked up and handed back to her were wallets. “So much shit, eh?” she said, stuffing it all back into her bag. “You never know what you might need in the Outback.” Her husband (?) joined her a moment later and gave us a suspicious-looking nod, as though we were up to something, before ushering her away.

 

* * *

 

I stood on the bench in the women’s locker room, wearing Aubrey’s uniform. She worked behind me, pinning the hem as her legs were longer than mine. I was terrified.

 

“I just keep my shoulders down, my eyes open, my frame locked, remember to point...what if I forget the words?”

 

Aubrey moved into my line of sight as she gave my hips a little reassuring shake. “You have eight other girls up there with you, it will be okay. Beca will know if you’re lost. Let her lead you.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to use the trumpet instead of the snare, spin left instead of right and run into someone else and fall on my face.” I shook my head, trying to find my resolve again. “No! Keep my eyes and ears open, point my fingers, land that plane…”

 

I could feel Aubrey staring. “Thanks, Red.” I turned to look at her. “I just want you to know that I don’t sleep around, whatever Luke might have told you. I was genetically predisposed to developing nodes; I knew I was already at risk when I was on Broadway. And I thought that he loved me, and it made me forget to take care of my voice. I thought we had something special. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.” She went back to fiddling with my skirt, not making eye contact.

 

“How does it look?” I asked, giving her emotional space.

 

Aubrey sniffed, glancing at how my shirt’s buttons created a gap, revealing my bra. I giggled and adjusted it. But Aubrey’s face changed, eyes meeting mine, big, worried.

  
“I’m scared,” she said, shaking her head. Her voice wavered. “I’m so scared.”

 

Of course she was scared. She was going under the knife tonight to fix her vocal cords, and singing was her life. “Don’t worry,” I said, as if that would make her stop worrying, and pulled her into a hug. “You’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

I ran to catch up with Stacie as she followed Mom and Dad to dinner. “Stacie, you just gotta do something for me.”

 

“I don’t just _gotta_ do anything.”

 

“Just tell Mommy and Daddy I’ve got a terrible headache and I’m in bed, and you checked on me once. Okay?” Honestly, I covered for her; it was the least she could do.

 

Stacie looked at me like I was a crazy person, but I didn’t care. Beca was waiting for me in the parking lot.

 

* * *

 

_“Volkswagen is proud to be a sponsor of The Lodge at Fallen Leaves. Please welcome our annual convention the Lodge’s renowned a capella group, Pitch Slapped!”_

 

This was it. It was happening. I filed onto the stage with the other eight girls, getting a reassuring nod from Beca as I looked her direction to wait for her to count us in.

 

With a whispered, “One, two, three, four,” we were off. And it was ok. Everyone was doing great, and I felt like a bumbling fool, sticking out like a sore thumb. But every time Beca’s and my paths crossed, she smiled at me, and when we were next to each other and her hand grasped mine, it squeezed, thumb brushing over the back of mine before the dance step required we separate.

 

We were at the front of the stage taking our bows when I noticed movement in the audience, hard to see with the blinding stage lighting, but I recognized them - Amy and her man.

 

* * *

 

I was in the back seat of Beca’s car, changing out of the costume on our way back to the Lodge, both of us on a high from the performance.

 

“You did well,” Beca said as she drove. “You worked hard.”

 

My peasant blouse was tangled inside out, making me fight with it, leaving me topless for a minute. “I saw that couple from the Lodge and I thought that was it!”

 

“Oh, me, too. Me, too,” Beca answered. “You know, by the second verse, you really had it.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t nail that snare-bass transition.”

 

“You did really well.” Beca looked at me in the rear-view mirror, still topless. And I noticed she didn’t avert her gaze nearly as quickly as would have been deemed polite.

 

I noticed it even more when her gaze returned as I pulled my shirt over my head and got it tucked into my jeans.

 

I climbed over the console between the seats and plopped back into mine, stealing a glance at Beca, only to see her stealing one at me. More than once. After the third time, she smiled at me awkwardly and scratched her arm.

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight by the time we pulled up in the staff parking lot. Beca hopped out and I used my visor’s mirror to check on the state of my make-up. I didn’t want to be wearing too much when I went home; Dad wouldn’t like it. She showed up at my door a couple seconds later, opening it for me.

  
“Thanks,” I said, surprised when she took my hand to help me out, holding both of them for a moment as she stepped close, making my heart race.

 

“Beca!” It was Donald, scrambling around the front of the car. “Come on, it’s Aubrey.”

 

Aubrey. In all the excitement of the performance, I’d forgotten that she was having her surgery tonight. We took off running to Aubrey’s cabin, finding the door open, several of the staff members hovering nervously in her room.

 

“Did you call an ambulance?” Beca asked, pushing through the crowd.

 

“She said the hospital would call her father,” Donald said, chasing after her. “She made me promise.”

 

Aubrey was in bed, sweating but under a heavy blanket despite the heat of the evening. Tears stained her face, her hands seemed to perpetually squeeze her throat. A dry erase board laid on her stomach, marker on her chest. Beca rushed to her side, taking up one of her hands in her own.

 

“She said, well, wrote, that the scope burned going down.”

 

“I thought you said he was a real M.D.?” I asked, scared.

 

“He was, but he’s a chiropractor.” _Jesus christ. Really, Donald?_

 

“It’s alright,” Beca said, smoothing Aubrey’s hair out of her panicked face. “I’m here.”

 

I ran. I needed my father. Aubrey needed my father. I snuck into my parents’ room and crept as fast as I could to his side of the bed, shaking him gently until he woke up. He saw the fear on my face.

 

“What? What is it, Red? Is it Stacie?”

 

“No,” I whispered, grabbing his old school doctor’s bag that I always loved that he brought on trips (“Just in case!” he would say). He climbed out of bed and got dressed, following me back to Aubrey’s cabin.

 

“Excuse me, everybody clear out,” he said, kicking out the staff as he made for Aubrey. He made Beca move and sat in her place. “Okay.” He touched her throat and she gasped, body shuddering. “Yes, I know that hurts. We’re going to take care of that.” He opened his bag and pulled out a pen light and tongue depressor. “Who’s responsible for this girl?”

 

“I am,” Beca said, watching intently. I hovered by the door behind her, watching. “Please. Is she…” Beca’s voice faltered, and her emotion made me stop forward, touching her back.

 

My dad seemed to notice. Or he was angry with Beca. I didn’t know. He turned and leaned over Aubrey as he clicked on his flashlight. “Open.”

 

We all left, then, unable to take the anxiety or witness Aubrey’s worst fears coming true. We waited on the porch, Donald pacing, Beca staring into the night until the door opened. She rushed to my father.

 

“Doc, thanks a lot,” Donald said, grabbing his hand to shake it.

 

Beca offered hers to shake. “Dr. Beale, I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

He pointedly avoided her handshake. Didn’t even bother responding to her gratitude. Just took me by the shoulder to lead me back to our cabin.

 

“Was that what my money paid for?” he asked me angrily as we walked.

 

“I’m sorry, I never meant to lie to you.”

 

“You’re not the person I thought you were, Red. I’m not sure who you are. You know how important it is to have a specialist do vocal cord surgery.” I fell back a step, hurt. “But I don’t want you to have anything to do with those people again.”

 

Fear rose up in me. “But can I just explain -”

 

“Nothing!” he shouted, stopping. “You’re to have nothing to do with any of them ever again. I won’t tell your mother about this.” He started walking, away from me. “Right now I’m going to bed. And take that stuff off your face before your mother sees you.”

 

I stopped, watching him leave.

 

If he thought I was going back to Stacie’s and my room to go to sleep, he was dead wrong.

 

* * *

 

I could hear quiet music playing, a nice throwback jam - R. Kelly’s “Ignition.” I knocked on the screen door of Beca’s cabin.

 

She opened the door a few seconds later, wearing an oversized T-shirt and...well. That seemed to be it. Her hair was tied up in a sloppy bun. She was gorgeous. I tried not to stare.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

She moved aside to let me pass and I stepped in, surveying the place. It was empty, not much more than a couple chairs, a table, a desk with a laptop open with some crazy program on its screen, a lamp or two, and a bed. Clothes were everywhere, on the floor, on the chairs. One chair was apparently the designated bra chair, several of them hanging over the back of it.

 

She hovered behind me. “I guess it’s not a great room. You probably have a great room.”

 

“No, it’s...it’s a _great_ room!” I said, way too enthusiastically to come across as authentic.

 

She stared at me for a second and then moved, swiping clothes off the nearest chair so I could sit. She reached for her computer, the source of the music.

 

“No, leave it on,” I said quickly when I realized what she was going to do. “I’m sorry about the way my father treated you.”

 

“No, your father was great,” Beca said, moving more clothes off another chair to take a seat. “He was great. The way he took care of Aubrey -”

 

“Yes, but I mean the way he was with you. It’s really me it has to do with.”

 

Beca looked at me, seeming conflicted.

 

“Beca, I came here because my father -”

 

“No, the way he helped her - I mean, I could never do anything like that! That was something. The reason people treat me like I’m nothing is because I’m nothing.”

 

My heart dropped. Beca couldn’t - shouldn’t - think that about herself. “That’s not true! You - you’re everything!”

 

Beca looked at me sharply. “You don’t understand the way it is for somebody like me. Last month I’m slinging lattes to keep alive. This month, people are spamming my inbox with Amazon gift cards. I’m balancing on shit and as quick as that,” she snapped her fingers, “I can be there down there again.”

 

“No, it’s not the way it is!” I said desperately. “It doesn’t have to be that way!”

 

Beca stared at me and shook her head. “I’ve never known anybody like you. You think you can make the world better.” Her voice started turning bitter. “Somebody’s lost, you find them. Somebody’s bleeding -”

 

“Yeah and I go get my daddy,” I interrupted. “That’s really brave, like you said.” I wondered if she even remembered insulting me when I gave Aubrey the money.

 

“That took a lot of guts to go to him! You are not scared of anything. I don’t -”

 

“Me? I'm scared of everything! I'm scared of what I saw. I'm scared of what I did, of who I am.” It was coming. I felt it. Word vomit. Beca stood up, pacing. “And most of all I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you!”

 

Beca stopped and stared down at me. It was out. I’d said it. I dropped my gaze, staring at her now empty chair, trying not to cry. The song had ended, leaving us in silence. Painful, painful silence. I needed her to respond, to kick me out. To say she felt the same way. Anything. D’Angelo’s “Untitled” shuffled on and I looked up at Beca. And she just looked at me, eyes big, jaw tense.

  
So I pushed myself out of the chair. I could do it. I could be brave. “Sing with me?”

 

Beca’s stoic face broke a little. She seemed nervous. “Here?”

 

“Here.” I took a step. And another. And another until I was right in front of her. She kept her eyes down, not looking at me. So I took a breath and lifted my hand and touched her shoulder, holding it, sliding along it to meet her neck and curl around the nape. I could feel us moving, naturally swaying to the rhythm.

 

I felt her arms slink around my waist, her voice soft.  _“And if you’ll have me, I can provide everything that you desire. Said if you get a feeling. Feeling that I am feeling. Won't you come closer to me baby, you've already got me right where you want me baby…”_

 

My heart was in my throat. I’d never felt so high, so excited. Her hands pushed up along my spine and I leaned back, trusting her to support me as I arched. I pulled myself up with my hands on her shoulders, slowly, until we were close enough that I could feel her breath on my neck.

 

_“How does it feel?”_

 

I could feel everything - the music, the air, the rhythm, Beca. I didn’t think. I felt. We moved in sync and when she bent me back again, I felt her thigh between mine. She pulled me in and I wrapped my arms around her neck, our bodies flush, and I felt her arms around me, holding, squeezing, a hand drifting down over the seat of my pants and not making any apologies for it. Every time her fingers moved across my back where my shirt didn’t cover, I swallowed hard.

 

 _“And I am feeling right on,”_ I whisper-sang; I knew my voice wasn’t steady enough for anything more than that. _“If you feel the same way, baby, let me know the right way. I’d love to make you wet -”_ I stopped, blushing hard, forgetting what the lyrics were actually _saying_. Beca seemed to remember, though, and she sighed in my ear, hands pulling me firmly over her thigh to make me gasp.

 

This was happening. It was one hundred percent happening. I let my lips touch her neck and I felt her shiver. So I did it again, and her head tilted a little, so I did it more, letting my tongue graze her skin as my fingernails scratched the back of her neck. I felt a hand on my waist drift down to my thigh, and Beca dipped a little as her hand caught the back of my knee to hitch it up alongside her hip. It opened me to her, pulled me closer. I let my hips roll once. Just once. I looked up at her to see her staring at my lips.

 

It was a rush. A feeling of power to have this woman who was so confident, always the badass, now nervous. Excited. Unsteady. I started to lean in, her breath against my lips, but eased out of her embrace, circling her slowly, staying close, letting my hands trail over her as I moved until I was behind her. I desperately wanted to feel her skin under my fingertips as I rested my hands on her shoulders. I settled for pressing my lips to the back of her neck, hands working to untie her hair and let it down. I finished my circle, daring to let my hand dip down over the curve of her backside, not feeling anything under that T-shirt.

 

Her face was intense when she looked up at me, and she ran her hands up my sides slowly, pushing my arms up over my head. She squeezed my wrists and I kept them there as she trailed her hands down again. I felt her tug at my shirt, untucking it to lift it up and off in one smooth motion. Her arms were around my waist again and I felt her toss the shirt aside as we swayed to the rhythm.

 

I felt her lips brush mine, a kiss, but there was no rush. She dipped me backwards again, lips traveling along my chest and up my neck until she had me upright. I pushed my hands through her hair, holding her, feeling her. My eyes were closed, functioning solely on instinct and response to what she was doing, what she was making me feel.

 

I felt her take a step back. And another. Toward her bed. My heart raced, more so than it already was. But I followed. We stopped and I let her rotate us until I felt her bed behind my knees, and then she pushed until I sat down. She slipped into my lap like it was second nature, like she was meant to be there, and I felt safe, cocooned by her almost as her weight and warmth helped keep me grounded.

 

Her hands pushed through my curls to pull my head back and expose my neck to her mouth which trailed up and down, slow, wet kisses, over every inch. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I let them rest on the tops of her thighs, high enough that her T-shirt could separate my hands from her skin.

 

She must have deemed that unsatisfactory, because the noise she made sounded like it and she reached for my right hand and deliberately moved it up and under the edge of her shirt and onto the warm, soft skin of her thigh. I inhaled at the contact and she lifted off my lap a little. I really liked that motion - it was sexy and wanting and I wanted her to do it again. I let my hand drift higher, keeping safely to the outer edge, until I was at her hip where I could grab hold of her and pull her closer.

 

I wanted her. I wanted her _so_ badly. The rational part of my brain was all but deactivated, but there was enough of it there to wake me up for a second. “Bec...Beca,” I heard myself say and I felt her mouth disappear from my neck. I righted my head so I could see her. She looked as crazed as I felt, and I shivered at it.

 

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, breathing hard.

 

“Nothing, I just…you should know…” I swallowed. “I’ve never…”

 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” She brushed my hair back, scanning my face. “Like, with a woman?”

 

I shook my head. “Ever.”

 

Her roaming hands stilled, pausing where they’d ended up on my chest, just shy of the swells of my breasts. “Red, we don’t have to…”

 

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. I needed to assuage her growing concern. “I want to. I just...wanted you to know.”

 

Beca swallowed. “You’re...you’re sure?”

 

I nodded and made the bold move of sliding my hand around her hip and down to squeeze round flesh. “Make love to me.”

 

* * *

 

_“Singers, dancers, actors, this is your lucky day! Auditions for the annual Lodge end-of-the-season talent show beginning in the playhouse!”_

 

I felt like a different person in the morning. Renewed. Energized. But I had to play it normal; Stacie would sniff me out in a second if I wasn’t careful. So far at breakfast, she seemed clueless. It was easy to play it down, though. The tension radiating off my father was palpable and we were all eating in awkward silence.

 

The impeccable timing he was prone to have, Jesse rolled up to our table, clipboard in hand. “Everyone going to be in the show?”

 

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” my dad said, surprising all three of us. Four, if you counted Jesse. “Miss the weekend traffic.” _No. No no no!_

 

“But Jake, we’re paid up ‘til Sunday.” My mom, always conscientious about a dollar. I cheered her on in that moment. Leaving was literally the last thing I wanted to do. Especially not _tomorrow_. That was way, way too soon to leave Beca.

 

“Daddy, and miss the show?” Stacie asked, urgently.

 

“I said we’re leaving tomorrow.”

 

“But Daddy, I was going to sing in the show!” _Good girl, Stacie. Break him down._

 

“It’s a big event. People bring their own arrangements. You don’t want to miss it.” I was even cheering for Jesse - good job, Jesse! “Oh, Red, I need you for props.” _Ugh fuck off, Jesse._

 

“Jake, why would you want to leave early?” my mother asked, concerned.

 

My father was stewing, glowering at his omelet. “It was just an idea. We can stay if you want to.”

 

I let go of the breath I was holding and saw Stacie do the same.

 

“So, Stacie, what were you planning to sing?” he said, forcing a smile.

 

And that’s all it took. Stacie was up and out of her chair, following our father out of the dining room.

 

* * *

 

As soon as I could escape, I ran to the staff quarters. I needed to check on Aubrey, see how she was doing now that half a day had passed. I knocked and heard a bell ring on the other side. I assumed that meant “Come in” so I peeked in, seeing Aubrey sitting up in bed, smiling as she waved me in.

 

“You look much better,” I said, taking in her appearance. She wasn’t as pale, and she seemed far less tense than when I’d left her last night.

 

She held up her index finger and then picked up the dry erase board, scribbling on it before turning it to me to read. “Just missed your dad.” She followed it with a thumbs up and used her two hands to make a heart. She liked him.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the doctor…”

 

Aubrey shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.

 

There was an enthusiastic knock at the door and we both turned as it opened, Beca popping in, looking hopeful. “Hey!”

 

Aubrey clapped and held out her hand for her. Beca noticed me then, looking at me maybe a second too long but not really acknowledging me before sitting with Aubrey. I tried not to be hurt by it; I knew she couldn’t know.

 

“So, how are you doing?” Beca asked, speaking quietly as though if Aubrey couldn’t speak, neither should she.

 

I watched Aubrey erase her board and write. “OK. Dr. says I can still sing!”

 

Beca’s posture sagged with relief and then she lifted her head. “Aubrey, that’s so great.”

 

Aubrey glanced at me and she erased her board again. “Last night? ???”

 

“Good,” Beca said curtly.

 

“Fine. I missed the snare-bass transition. But it was good.” It felt _so_ awkward for some reason. Like, if I thought there was tension between my father and me at breakfast, it had nothing on the tension between Beca and me right now.

 

Aubrey was staring at me, and then I saw her look at Beca again, face changing a little.

 

I needed to get out of there. “I guess I...I guess I’m going to go. Bye.” I recognized that maybe I looked at Beca a second or two too long, waiting and hoping for some type of response.

 

But all I got was, “See ya.”

 

I closed the door and sat on the porch step, waiting, pretending like I couldn’t hear their conversation - or at least Beca’s side of it.

 

“So, he says you’re going to be fine! Don’t worry about Gail, I’ll tell her your grandmother died...I know what I’m doing, Aubrey.”

 

I stood when I heard the door, and Beca looked surprised I was still waiting. “Look, um,” she started. _Why is it so awkward between us?_ “I gotta run. I have a lesson with the Schneiders in three minutes and they’ll kill each other if I’m not there.”

 

“Sure, if you gotta go,” I said, trying and knowingly failing miserably at hiding my disappointment.

 

Beca looked at me like she wanted to say more. Or do something. “I’ll see ya.” She was walking away.

 

“Beca!” I called, before I could stop myself.

 

She turned and looked at me for a minute. And then smiled.

 

The first sign all morning that we were okay.

 

* * *

 

It absolutely poured that evening. Torrential rain. My dad and I picked away at a jigsaw puzzle as my mom worked on packing.

 

Stacie was in front of the mirror, pouting as she fussed with her hair. “God, I am so sick of this rain! Remind me not to take my honeymoon at Niagara Falls.”

 

“So you go to Jamaica. It’ll be fine.” My mom, always the fixer.

 

“Where is my Lancôme L'Absolu Rouge lipstick? I know I put it in this drawer.”  _Whoops...sorry, Stace._

 

I needed to get out. I itched to leave. I needed to see her. I got up and grabbed my raincoat.

 

Dad didn’t seem to notice, but Mom did. “Red, where are you going in this weather?”

 

“Um, they’re having karaoke in the west lobby.”

 

“Quite the little joiner, aren’t we?” Stacie snipped.

 

* * *

 

An hour later and I was wrapped up in Beca and her sheets, listening to the rain and feeling completely at ease, Amos Lee’s “Arms of a Woman” appropriately playing in the background.

 

“Have you had many women?” I asked, feeling Beca’s hand trailing aimlessly up and down my naked back.

 

“What?” she laughed.

 

I propped myself up to see her better. “Have you _had_ many women?”

 

“Red, come on.”

 

“Tell me,” I smiled. “I want to know.”

 

“No, no,” Beca said, shaking her head. And then she was getting up, forcing me off her. I’d meant it to be a teasing conversation, but I’d struck a nerve. She climbed out of bed and I watched her pull on her discarded shirt. “You have to understand what it’s like. You come from the streets and suddenly you’re up here. Women are throwing themselves at you and they smell so good. They really take care of themselves. I never knew women could be like that. The men, too. They’re so goddamn rich you think they must know about everything.” She walked, busying herself with finding shorts to put on. “They’re slipping their room keys in my hand two, three times a day, different people! So, I think I’m scoring big, right? For a while, you think, ‘Hey, they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t care about me, right?’”

 

I felt bad. Bad for asking, bad for upsetting her. I didn’t like the implication that she’d slept with so many people, basically as part of her job. “That’s alright. I understand. You were just using them, that’s all.”

 

“No!” Beca came back and sat down next to me, her face earnest, exposed. “No, that’s not it. That’s the thing, Red. See, it wasn’t like that. They were using me.”

 

I stared at her, reading her. It had hurt her. They had all hurt her. I sat up to press my lips to hers, gently, and then less gently when she kissed me back, and I let the sheet around my torso fall so I could pull her back down into bed with me.

 

She pulled away suddenly, looking down at me like she’d been struck by an idea. “What’s your real name, Red?”

 

I smiled. “Chloe, for Pulitzer Prize-winning author Toni Morrison; she was born a Chloe.”

 

“Chloe,” Beca said, smiling. “That’s a really pretty name.”

 

Her look shifted intense again. Wanting. I wanted, too. I lifted my head and reconnected our mouths, pulling her down to me with fingers in her hair.

 

* * *

 

I spent the night in my family cabin, much to my chagrin. We had so few days left here, but my family couldn’t know. I was running out of excuses to be out late, and Stacie was getting suspicious, giving me looks every time I snuck in after dark.

 

We laid in our room in silence. My brain was turning. I could still feel Beca’s hands on me, as though they’d left imprints. Dots of heat along my neck that could have been hickeys but they weren’t; I’d begged her not to leave any. At least, none that could be seen. I trailed my hand along my hip, touching where I knew she’d left one.

 

“I’ve decided to sleep with Luke.”

 

I sat up, looking across the room at Stacie. Now, I knew she was no virgin. She played boys like they were cards, only holding onto them until something better came her way. But that was just it - she only ever upgraded. Luke was a douchebag downgrade. “No, not with him.”

 

“Do you think if we came back for our tenth anniversary it would be free?”

 

Oh my _God_ she wasn’t seriously thinking of marrying that douche? Stacie didn’t settle. And I knew she wouldn’t settle _down_ for years. She wasn’t an idiot - in fact, I’m pretty sure she was a secret genius; there was no reason for her to be hung up on this guy. “Jesus, Stacie. Not him. You’re better than him. If you’re going to be with someone that you sort of...love.” I froze. I hadn’t let that word sneak into my head yet. But I did. I knew I did. I loved her.

 

“Bullshit,” Stacie said, rolling over. “Since when do you care who I sleep with? You wouldn’t care if I banged the entire Miami Heat, as long as I got you courtside seats. What you care about is that you’re not Daddy’s girl anymore. He listens when I talk now. You hate that.”

 

I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t trying to not be “Daddy’s girl.” I was just having fun stepping outside my usual box. Trying new things. If that drove a wedge between my father and me...maybe we weren’t as close as we originally thought.

 

* * *

 

I met Beca in the dance studio in the morning; I’d “signed up for lessons” with her so she could block out her morning. We weren’t really dancing, though, so much as...feeling. Each other. Up.

 

A lot.

 

To Nelly Furtado and Timbaland’s “Promiscuous.” Which I never would have thought could be a cha-cha, but hey. What did I know?

 

“One, two, three, cha-cha-cha,” I said jokingly as Beca let me lead her around the room, her hands sliding down my back and hips to palm my backside. “Hey! My frame - where’s that point?” She grinned at me and I lifted her arms up and off me. She groaned. “Spaghetti arms! Would you give me some form, please?” She smiled and pulled me in again, and I let her. For a second. And took a step back. “You’re invading my air space. This is my air space. That’s yours. Let’s cha-cha.” We took a few proper steps and then she pulled me back, and I let her, smiling at the way she kissed my neck and started working her way down the open vee of my shirt. “Don’t look down,” I admonished, lifting her chin and pointing at my eyes. “Look right here.” I turned and danced away, laughing as Beca fell dramatically to the floor to lay on her side and watch me.

 

 _“I want you on my team,”_ she rapped along to the track.

 

 _“So does everybody else,”_ I answered, rocking my hips and pushing my hands through my hair. It was fun to feel sexy, to feel wanted. To feel confident with another person.

 

_“Baby, we can keep it on the low. Let your guard down, ain’t nobody gotta know. If you with it girl, I know a place we can go.”_

 

 _“What kind of girl do you take me for?”_ I sang, dropping to my knees to crawl towards her.

 

She met me halfway, bending to press her lips to where my crop top exposed my navel and I let my arms wrap around her, pulling her to me as she straightened and we worked our way back to our feet. _“Promiscuous girl, wherever you are, I'm all alone, and it's you that I want.”_

 

“Beca!” Jesse’s voice startled us apart just in time before he popped up the stairs. I spun, practicing a simple cha-cha step as Beca hurried away to busy herself at her computer. “Hey Red - taking dance lessons?” I nodded, wanting him to leave. “I could teach you.” He attempted a poor version of what I was doing and I ignored him. The music cut off abruptly. “Uh, Beca,” he said, thankfully leaving me alone. “My dad put me in charge of the final show. I want to talk to you about the last performance. I’d like to shake things up a bit. You know, move with the times.”

 

“Yeah?” Beca said, immediately excited, turning to her computer and clicking through screens of music apps. I watched them in the mirror; she was practically jumping in excitement. “I have a lot of ideas. I’ve been working with the rest of the staff on a mash-up of “Run the World” and this original song one of them wrote -”

 

“Whoa, down girl,” Jesse said, cutting Beca off mid-sentence. “You’re way over your head here.” Her posture immediately fell. “You always do the chart-topping Ladies of the 80s. Why not do this year’s final show...to the 90s?” Jesse looked thrilled with his suggestion.

 

“Right,” Beca said, glaring at him.

 

“Well, you’re free to do the same tired number as last year if you want…but next year we’ll find another music director who will only be too happy -”

 

“Sure, Jesse,” Beca said loudly. “No problem. We’ll end the season with the 90s. Great idea.” Beca snapped the lid of her laptop closed and Jesse got the hint, walking away. Towards me.

 

“Sometimes she’s hard to talk to, but the guests seem to like her,” he said, and I swallowed bile. “See that she gives you the full half-hour you’re paying her for.” He snapped and gave me a finger gun, backing out of the studio. I waited, staring at Beca’s back in the mirror. She kicked the table. Hard.

 

* * *

 

“That little prick. He wouldn’t know a new idea if it hit him in the balls,” Beca huffed, marching along the path toward the staff quarters. I had to hurry to keep up with her. “He wanted some new ideas? I could have told him some new ideas.”

 

“Why did you let him talk to you that way?”

 

“What do you mean? And fight the boss man?”

 

“Yeah, tell him your ideas!” I said, wanting Beca to have a chance. “He’s a person like everyone else, I’m sure he’s got great -”

 

“Look, I know these people. They are rich and they’re mean. They won’t listen to me.”

 

“Well then, why not fight harder? Make them listen?” Always Miss Fix-It. Like my mother.

 

“Because I need this goddamned job lined up for next summer. My dad calls me today. ‘Good news,’ he says. ‘I pulled some strings. Got you off the wait list and admitted.’”

 

We stopped the top of the hill. “Admitted to what?”

 

Beca put her hands on her hips and turned to me. “Barden University Freshman, at your service.”

 

“But...that’s where I’m going!” I said excitedly, reaching for her, but she turned away and kept walking.

 

Movement below us caught my eye, my dad, Stacie, and Luke leaving the main hall, Dad’s arm around Luke’s shoulders as Stacie chattered on and on, and I grabbed Beca, pulling her backwards and down, out of sight. “I don’t think they saw us,” I said quietly.

 

Beca seemed mad. She stood and looked down at me. “Fight harder, huh? I don’t see you fighting so hard. I don’t see you running up to Daddy, telling him I’m your girl.”

 

I stood up, too, unable to have her glowering down at me that way. “I will. With my father, it’s complicated. And I’ve never introduced him to anyone I’ve been seeing, especially not a girl. I will tell him.”

 

“I don’t believe you, Red,” she snapped at me, and then seemed to catch herself, taking a breath. “I don’t think that you ever had any intention of telling him. Ever.” She turned and walked away.

 

And I let her.


	4. Don't You

It was Labor Day weekend - the last weekend of summer. I’d been dreading it, and it was here, and Beca was upset with me. I needed to find her and apologize but she wasn’t in her cabin. I went to Aubrey’s, maybe she’d be there.

 

“Have you seen Beca?” I asked when she answered the door, looking like her old self again.

 

She opened the door further, revealing Beca sitting on her bed, looking like she’d been crying. She saw me and stood up, glancing at Aubrey before coming out onto the porch where I was, but she walked past me to the railing, crossing her arms. I followed, slipping my arms around her waist from behind as I pressed kisses along the skin exposed by her hair being tied up in a knot. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, kissing her again. And again.

 

“Looks like I picked the wrong sister.”I looked up, recognizing that English accent, to see Luke smiling at us from the path. “That’s okay, Red. I like sluts, too.”

 

Beca swung herself under the railing, charging right into him.

 

“Beca!”

 

She hit him low, her low center of gravity easily bringing him to his knees so she could send the toe of her boot right into his stomach, only to let him stand up so she could punch him in the jaw. It had to have hurt her hand; I heard the impact from the porch. Aubrey rushed out at the commotion, as did the other staff.

 

“Hit me, come on,” she said, opening herself up to him as he staggered.

 

“I’m not going to hit a girl,” Luke said, holding up his hands. Instead, he spit at her.

 

“Ugh, fuck you!” she said, lifting her foot to kick him square in the groin, bringing him to his knees. She brought her foot back to do it again, but stopped, breathing hard. “Get out of here. You’re not worth it.” She shoved him backwards, and he scrambled to his feet, huffing and puffing. “You’re not _worth_ it.”

 

She backed away, breathing hard, and looked up at me. Aubrey hesitated and went back inside and Beca covered my hands with hers, and then wrapped her arms around my waist. I hugged her to my torso, cradling her. No one had ever defended my honor before. Fought for me.

 

* * *

 

_“I know a place, where the grass is really greener. Warm, wet and wild. There must be something in the water.”_

 

Jesse had assigned me to props for the final show, so while Stacie rehearsed Katy Perry’s “California Girls,” I painted the palm tree that would serve as her backdrop. Beca was there, sitting on a table with a clipboard in her hand. I watched her out the corner of my eye. Everything she did was just...so _attractive._ Even the way she flipped up the piece of paper on the clipboard to read the page below it was attractive.

 

_“Sippin gin and juice, laying underneath the palm trees, undone. The boys, break their necks trying to creep a little sneak peek, at us.”_

 

Some of the bungalow gigolos, plus Jackie Goldberg who, I saw, was your typical rich middle-aged housewife with too much plastic surgery and makeup, were deep into a poker game nearby, Amy and her man hovering for no apparent reason.

 

“Win big, Jackie,” Victor said, kissing his wife’s head. “As always.” I watched him spot Beca and saunter over to her, adjusting the waistband on his pants as he went. “This is our last night together, babydoll,” he said quietly, but not quiet enough that I couldn’t hear him. “I’ve got something worked out for us.” He walked back to the poker table, and Beca didn’t respond, just glanced around to see if anyone had heard, and the moment she looked my way I snapped my eyes back to my palm tree, pretending to be oblivious.

 

_“You could travel the world, But nothing comes close to the Golden Coast. Once you party with us you'll be falling in love, oh ohh oh oh.”_

 

But then she hopped off her table with a toy lightsaber and walked over to the poker game, getting Jackie’s attention. “Excuse me, ma’am? The Star Wars number’s next.”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Jackie said. “Hey, doll. I’ve been playing cards all weekend and I’ve got an all-night game tonight.” I watched Jackie pull her purse into her lap and fish out her wallet, stuffing a wad of bills into Beca’s hand. “Why don’t you give my husband some extra dance lessons?”

 

I watched Victor leer at Beca as she thumbed the cash in her hand. I saw her small frame tense and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Goldberg, but I’m booked up for the whole weekend with the show and everything. I won’t have time for anything else. I don’t think it’d be fair to take the money.” She handed the cash back to the woman and walked away; I didn’t miss the way Mr. Goldberg glared at her.

 

_“California girls, we're unforgettable. Daisy dukes, bikinis on top. Sun-kissed skin, so hot_ _we'll melt your popsicle.”_

 

Meanwhile, I was glowing.

 

“I’ve decided tonight’s the night with Luke,” Stacie said after her song, crouching next to me. “He doesn’t even know yet.”

 

“Oh hey, Stacie!” I tried, but she was already gone.

 

* * *

 

What happened with her that evening I only found out about years later, when Stacie told me over too many glasses of wine.

 

She’d gotten dressed up, nice, in the dress that gave her the best cleavage. She snuck back to the staff quarters to Luke’s cabin, ready to rock his world. She ignored the tie hanging on the doorknob and knocked, opening the door without waiting for permission.

 

Only to find Mr. Goldberg on his hands and knees, happily “accepting” Luke.

 

I’ve never let her live down her almost-mistake.

 

I’ve also never been more grateful for Victor Goldberg, for stopping Stacie from making that mistake.

 

* * *

 

Beca and I only had two more days together. We spent the night together, curled up in bed. She traced patterns along my shoulder. “You wanna hear something crazy?” she asked. “Last night I...I dreamt we were walking along and we met your father. He said, ‘Come on,’ and he put his arm around me. Just like he did with Luke.”

 

I turned and looked at her, just looked. And brought our lips together. I wanted her dream to be real.

 

It was dawn when I left, and Beca walked me out, stopping me on the steps to pull me back for one more kiss. It was risky, but Beca’s cabin was a ways away from the others. And neither of us were thinking, or we would have seen Victor Goldberg sneaking out of Luke’s room.

 

* * *

 

John, Gail, and Jesse were at breakfast with us in the morning, our final breakfast. “You know how you feel when you see patient and you think he’s alright, then you look at the X-Rays and it’s nothing like you thought?” John asked my father.

 

“What happened, John?”

 

“It’s exactly what it’s like when you find out one of your staff’s a thief,” Gail answered.

 

Jesse chimed in, eager to get in on the action. “Jackie Goldberg’s wallet was stolen when she was playing poker last night. It was in her purse hanging on the back of her chair. She had it at 1:30, and when she checked again at quarter to four...it was missing,” he said dramatically.

 

“Victor thinks he remembers this singer girl, Beca walking by,” John said thoughtfully. I sat up at the mention of her name. “So we ask her, ‘You have an alibi for last night?’”

 

“She says she was alone in his room watching a movie,” Gail finished.

 

“There are no movies in Beca’s room,” Jesse said with a snide laugh.

 

This wasn’t good. “There’s been a mistake,” I said in a hush to Jesse. “I know Beca didn’t do it.”

 

“There’s been similar thefts at the auto show and it’s happened here before. Three other wallets!”

 

“I know she didn’t do it!”

 

“Stay out of it, Red.”

 

Suddenly Gail was up, arms flailing dramatically. “Wait, don’t put those tables together! Come on.”

 

I moved into her empty seat next to my father, panicking. “Daddy, I need your help. I know Beca didn’t take Jackie’s wallet. I know.”

 

“Oh?” he asked. “How do you know?”

 

I hesitated. I wanted to tell him. “I can’t tell you. Just please trust me, Daddy.”

 

“I’m sorry, Red. I can’t.” I’d broken his trust. I didn’t know if I’d ever have it again.

 

Gail returned, defending her choice of pastry, claiming it was all protein thanks to the cream filling. “Mrs. Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger. Uh...maybe Beca didn’t do it. Anyone could have taken it. Maybe it was, uh...it could have been that little, weird couple, the Allens. I saw her with a couple of wallets!”

 

“Amy and Bumper?”

 

“Red, you don’t go around accusing innocent people,” my dad said sternly.

 

“Yeah, but I saw them!” My voice sounded desperate. “I even saw them at the auto show! You said something was stolen at the auto show?”

 

“I have an eyewitness and the girl has no alibi,” John said matter-of-factly. “Come on, Jesse. You’ll learn what it’s like to fire an employee.”

 

_No, no no no._ “No, Mr. - Mr. Smith, wait a minute. I know Beca didn’t take the wallet. I know she didn’t because she was in her room all night.” _Oh God, this was it. I’m sorry, Daddy._ “And the reason I know...is because I was with her.”

 

* * *

 

I found my father on the porch of the main house, staring out over the lake. He wouldn’t look at me.

 

“I told you I was telling the truth, didn’t I? I’m sorry I lied to you. But you lied, too.” He finally looked at me. “You told me everyone was alike and deserved a fair break. But you meant everyone who was like you. You told me you wanted me to change the world, to make it better. But you meant by becoming a lawyer or a doctor and marrying someone from Harvard. I’m not proud of myself. But I’m in this family, too, and you can’t keep giving me the silent treatment.” He seemed dead set on it, though. “There are a lot of things about me that aren’t what you thought. But if you love me, you have to love all the things about me. And I love you.” I couldn’t fight the tears anymore. “And I’m sorry I let you down. I’m so sorry, Daddy. But you let me down, too.”

 

I left, needing to hide, to escape. I was exhausted. I went to Beca’s garage and curled up on the couch.

 

* * *

 

I was jostled awake and I opened my eyes to see Beca looking agitated but relieved. “I have been looking for you all over. They found the Allens!” I sat up. “Fingerprinted their water glasses. Found out they were wanted in Georgia and in Florida, and they made a fortune here this summer.”

 

“So then it’s alright!” I said, relieved. Beca was safe. “I knew it would work out.” I stood up, rushing to her. “I knew they’d have to apologize -”

 

“I’m out, Red.”

 

I stopped. “They fired you anyway because of me.”

 

“And if I leave quietly, I’ll get my summer bonus.”

 

My mind reeled. A mountain of regret. I paced. “So I did it for nothing. I hurt my family, you lost your job anyway. I did it for nothing!” I was yelling.

 

“No, no, no, not for nothing, Red!” Beca yelled back. “Nobody has _ever_ done anything like that for me before.”

 

I spun and scoffed. “You were right, Beca. You can’t win no matter what you do.”

 

“You listen to me,” she said, advancing on me. “I don’t want to hear that from you. _You can._ ”

 

I shook my head. “I used to think so.”

 

Beca sighed.

 

* * *

 

Beca never told me about this, but my father did, later. Much later.

 

Beca had shown up at our cabin. Leather jacket, sunglasses. Nervous. Knocking on our door, looking for him.

 

“Dr. Beale, can I uh...look, I’m going anyway and I know what you must be thinking.”

 

“You don’t know anything about me. Anything at all.”

 

“I know you want Red to be like you. The kind of person who does things that make other people look up to them. Dr. Beale, Red _is_ like that. If you could just see -”

 

“Don’t you tell me what to see. I see someone in front of me who let her partner be irresponsible with her voice and sent her off to some butcher while she moved on to an innocent, disciplined girl like my daughter.”

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s what you would see.”

 

* * *

 

Beca was leaving. Her car was packed. She snapped her fingers and walked over to me, shoving her hands in her pockets.

 

“I can’t imagine being here without you even one day,” I said with a sigh.

 

“Just think. You have more time for improv and Benji’s magic. Maybe they’ll saw you in seven pieces now.”

 

“I guess we surprised everybody,” I said, smiling at her.

 

She laughed and came closer, leaning against her car next to me. “I guess we did.”

 

I turned to her, pulling her into a hug and felt her lips on my cheek.

 

She sighed and held me. “I’ll never be sorry.”

 

“Neither will I.”

 

Her hands framed my face and she kissed me, gentle, passionate. “I’ll see ya,” she said, walking to get into the car before I could cry. She pulled away without hesitating, car fishtailing on the gravel road.

 

And I watched her drive out of my life.

 

* * *

 

Stacie knew. Now she knew where I’d been, what I’d been up to. How I felt. My heart breaking.

 

We were getting dressed for the show and she sat down next to me. “Red? I’ll do your hair.” She pushed my curls back. “You could look pretty...no. You’re prettier your way.” She let my hair fall back into place. “This way.”

 

She knew. I teared up and swallowed, trying not to break as she pulled me in for a hug.

 

* * *

 

We were in the main hall for the final show, Jesse leading a chorus of visitors, staff, and guests in some cheesy original tune. Stacie was up there with them, beaming.

 

I sat in the corner with my parents. Numb. Forced to sit through it knowing Beca was gone. Her crew was in the back of the room; I stole glances at them. They were the only connection to her I had left. Even that would be gone tomorrow.

 

Luke strolled by and my dad caught him, pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket to hand to him. “Good luck in medical school, son.”

 

Luke seemed surprised, and he smiled. “And I wanted to thank you for your help with the Aubrey situation. I guess we’ve all gotten into messes like these.”

 

“What?”

 

“I thought Red told you. Look, I’m not sure. Aubrey claims I distracted her from her discipline, but you know with girls like that, they’re liable to blame it on anyone around.”

 

My dad ripped the envelope out of his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket, coming back to our table to sit. _Ha ha. Douche._

 

Gail and John had joined the chorus on stage. It was clear they used to sing, but their voices had turned unsteady with age.

 

Suddenly Beca was in front of me. I blinked, thinking I was still daydreaming, but she was really there, in her brown leather jacket and zipper-pocketed skinny jeans and biker boots.

 

“Nobody puts Chloe in a corner. Come on.” She reached for me, taking my hand to lead me out from behind my dad who stood up to follow us, but my mom caught him by the elbow and stopped him.

 

I followed Beca; she walked with purpose, her hand firm on mine across the floor to climb the steps onto the stage to interrupt the song, walking straight to the microphone center stage, lowering it a few inches to her height.

 

“Sorry about the disruption folks,” she said, head held high. “But I always do the last performance of the season. This year, somebody told me not to. So I’m going to do my kind of singing with a great partner…” I looked at her, still in disbelief this was happening. “Who’s not only a terrific performer, but somebody who’s taught me that there are people willing to stand up for other people no matter what it costs them. Somebody who’s taught me,” she stopped and looked at me, taking a breath, “about the kind of person I want to be. Miss Chloe Beale.”

 

I saw my dad start to stand again, my mom saying something that made him sit.

 

The chorus on stage dispersed, Beca taking the mic stand off stage, leaving me painfully alone for only a few seconds as the lighting dimmed, but they felt like hours. I saw her in the wings, pulling off her leather jacket as she talked to Donald who was nodding along.

 

She stepped back out onto the stage, hands up.

 

_Clap. Clap._

 

Walking towards me.

 

_Clap. Clap._

 

I knew this. We’d practiced it in the lake. I rubbed my palms together. _Snap._

 

_Clap. Clap._

 

The other girls filed into place next to us, Flo to my left, Cynthia-Rose to Beca’s right.

 

_Clap snap clap clap rub clap._ Beca smirked at me when we turned to each other to clap our hands together.

 

_Clap snap clap clap rub clap._

 

The lights came back up.

 

_“Who run the world!”_ Cynthia-Rose sang, and the rest of the staff out on the main floor cheered - _“Squirrels!”_

 

I knew the routine - I’d watched them do it in the staff house so many times. They were doing it that very first night. The medley, from “Girls” into “We Belong” into that song Beca said one of the girls was writing. The audience, the foxtrot, 80s-loving audience, was eating it up.

 

I’d never soloed before. But as Beca took center stage again, I knew I was ready. She sang first. _“When tomorrow comes, I’ll be on my own, feeling frightened of the things that I don’t know.”_

 

I could do it. I wanted to do it. I stepped up next to her, harmonizing. _“When tomorrow comes, when tomorrow comes, when tomorrow comes.”_ Her voice dropped off to let me solo. _“And though the road is long I look up to the sky, darkness all around, I hope that I could fly. Then I sing along, then I sing along. Then I sing along.”_

 

Beca was looking at me, watching me like I was the only person in the room. She seemed to be swelling with pride or maybe...maybe something else. _“I got all I need when I got you and I,”_ she sang, reaching for my hand to pull me close. _“I look around me and see a sweet life. I’m stuck in the dark but you’re my flashlight. You’re getting me through the night.”_

 

I was vaguely aware that the rest of the girls had disappeared. There was motion out in the audience, and I could tell they were getting people up and out of their seats, pushing tables aside, folding up the chairs.

 

_“Can’t stop my heart when you shine it in my eyes. Can’t lie, it’s a sweet life,”_ I sang back. _“I’m stuck in the dark but you’re my flashlight. You’re getting me, getting me through the night.”_ I had to stop singing, my voice getting tight at the way she was looking at me, and she pulled me close, our bodies flush. I heard the other girls pick up the song where we’d dropped it as the rest of the staff whistled when Beca’s hands dipped a little too low on my back. She smiled and I let my forehead rest against hers, swaying to the music until she pulled me into a slow dance, this time with no air space and no tension.

 

The song ended and I watched her lift her arm, hand spinning in the air. Her signal, I’d come to understand. It seemed the same every time, but what it would cause to happen was different every time. It was always music starting or stopping, but how whoever it was that was playing DJ knew what to do, and how everyone else did, too, I didn’t understand. She grinned, hand whipping in a circle.

 

Pitbull started rapping over the sound system. I knew the song - it was new, the staff played it constantly. More than once every party.

 

_“Tonight. I want all of you tonight,”_ Beca sang along, but she wasn’t really singing anymore, not for anyone. Just me. The whole place cheered, people finally standing up, starting to dance, staff encouraging them. _“Give me everything tonight. For all we know, we might not get tomorrow.”_ She shook her head when she sang it, and I knew what she meant. We both knew we’d have tomorrow.

 

_“Grab somebody sexy, tell ‘em hey,”_ I sang and she laughed, pulling me into a swing dance, looping once around the stage until she dropped my hands and ran, jumping right off the front of the stage. I gasped, sure she’d slip or break her ankle, but she popped right back up, pointing at me as the rest of the entertainment staff flocked to her, falling into choreography I’d never seen them do. I grinned until my face hurt, watching her have fun, doing what she wanted, and the stuffy rich bitches loved it, too, clapping right along as the rowdy kids clapped and stomped and swiveled their hips, dancing their way toward the stage down the center aisle, right toward me, Beca in front.

 

She nodded.

 

I nodded, and Donald and Unicycle rushed to the stage to help me down and I ran to her, pulling her right into a kiss, not caring that my father was watching, that my mother was in the room. The only thing that mattered in that moment was Beca, and the way her hands felt in my hair as she held me close, her tongue slipping over mine.

 

_“Excuse me, but I might drink a little more than I should tonight. And I might take you home with me if I could tonight. And baby I’ma make you feel so good tonight. ‘Cause we might not get tomorrow.”_

 

People were cheering, and while I’m pretty sure it was for the song and the dancers, it was fun to think they were cheering our dramatic, romantic kiss. We fell back into dancing, the floor growing packed as everyone started to join in. Jesse and my Mom. Donald and Stacie. I caught sight of Aubrey hugging my dad. Victor Goldberg walking out in disgust.

 

I felt Beca take my hand, tilting her head away from the dance floor for a break as the song ended. I heard Simple Minds’ “Don’t You Forget About Me” start.

 

My dad stopped us at the door. I held my breath for his wrath.

 

“I know you weren’t the one who made Aubrey slip on her discipline.”

 

Beca stared at him, and I felt her hand squeeze mine. “Yeah?”

 

“When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.” He smiled at her a little and then gazed at me, breaking out into a full grin. “You sounded wonderful up there.”

 

I smiled back. He wasn’t mad. He was happy. Proud of me. I hugged him and he hugged me, lifting me off the ground a little with his strength before leaving to find my mother to ask her to dance.

 

I pulled Beca back onto the dance floor. I was having too much fun to take a break, finally allowed to be with her without worry, close to her. And it was our last night together - at least, until we would find each other in a few weeks at school.

 

_“As you walk on by...will you call my name,”_ Beca sang along to the song’s breakdown. _“As you walk on by, will you call my name. When you walk away, oh will you walk away, will you walk on by, come on, won’t you call my name…”_ She grinned at me and I leaned in to kiss her, just in time for her to break away and throw her fist in the air. _“I say La! Lalalala...”_


End file.
